It's What Heroes Do
by buggyswifter
Summary: Keeping the boys in the same school for an entire year sounded like a good idea to John. Why is it that nothing ever works out as planned for the Winchesters?
1. Chapter 1

Title: It's What Heroes Do

Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with the television show Supernatural, although I did drive an Impala once, but I don't think that counts.

A/N: Set pre-series. Dean is 16 and Sam is 12. This story is complete! Chapters will be posted often, I'm a feedback whore so please, please, please let me know what you think!

Chapter 1

Dean Winchester turned off the main road and passed through the ornate iron archway. He reached down and lowered the volume on his music, whistling under his breath as he took in the estate. Even in mid-November the property had a lush appearance. Unfortunately, the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach was back again, the same feeling that had been plaguing him since he agreed to attend this shindig.

As Dean carefully maneuvered the Impala down the long gravel driveway, trying to find a safe place to park his dad's prized possession among the variety of cars driven by the other high school students, he wondered why he agreed to show up at this party. Even though he needed some down time away from his dad and brother, this would not have been his first choice as a fun way to blow off some steam. But he would put on a happy face and play the part of the cool loner at the A-list party; partly to show his dad he was trying to fit in and partly to chow down on some high class party food. Dean had been promised chicken wings, barbeque meatballs, cocktail weanies, nachos and cold beer. His stomach growled as Dean chuckled to himself; yeah, there wasn't much Dean Winchester wouldn't do for free grub. Since he couldn't put his finger on the reason for his uneasiness he decided the best way to calm his anxious stomach was to fill it food.

There was a definite crispness to the late fall evening. The day had been bright and unseasonably warm, but the setting sun was bringing with it the promise of a hard freeze, and snow had been in the forecast for the weekend. Dean carefully parked well away from any other cars and sat for a few minutes in the quiet comfort of the car on a cool evening, reflecting on his first couple of months in Finewood, Wisconsin. So far life had been painfully dull and boring. Dean had spent time in some of the crappiest school districts in the country, but as he had tried to explain to his dad - blending was much easier in big city schools. You couldn't get lost in the crowd at small town schools. When there were only about fifty other kids in your grade, kids who all went to school together since their first day of kindergarten, you stuck out like a sore thumb.

His dad's response to his observations had been less than helpful. "Suck it up kiddo, sounds like you're afraid you might actually have to do some homework." That was John Winchester's great advice.

That didn't change the fact that Dean knew what he was talking about. Small town teachers noticed you, they noticed your grades and they put great stock in your appearance and general well-being. The atmosphere in smaller towns was a little more relaxed and the teachers took time to actually get to know their students. Heck, most of the time they had already taught brothers and sisters, in some cases even kids' parents were former students. An excess of bumps and bruises were a bad thing to have in a small school. Questions were asked, stories were verified and parents called. These were all bad things in the Winchester playbook.

Just as he had suspected, when they started the school year Dean discovered that everyone in his sophomore class had been going to school together for the last ten years. The pecking order was set in stone with cliques solidly established. Like most schools, the rich kids ruled the kingdom with the bullies, jocks, potheads, boozers, smart kids, nerds and losers all taking their assigned places in a school like Finewood High; and if those on the bottom of the pile knew what was good for them they didn't try to rock the boat. Usually Dean didn't give a rat's ass where he fit into the social structure, but Finewood was different. The Winchester family was sticking around here for a while and his father made it pretty damn clear that Dean was expected to tow the line and play nice at school.

The kids in Dean's grade were not overly friendly. You could go to school in a town like this for five years and still be known as 'the new kid'. However, his dad had been pretty insistent that Finewood was where they were going to be spending this entire school year; his argument being that it was centrally located to many of the prospective hunts he had been researching. John could work his part-time job at the local garage, research in his free time and hunt over the weekends or days off. His work schedule was very flexible and none of the cases he had been researching would take him more than a one day drive from Finewood.

At least his dad seemed committed to actually spending the entire school year in one place this time. Dean and Sammy had divided up their previous year between five different moves and even Dean had to admit that was a little bit much. Sam absolutely hated leaving each and every town behind, the friends he made and classes he loved. By the time they ended the last school year they both were having trouble remembering what the cover story was for the town they were in; both he and Sammy had more than a few close calls at school keeping their stories straight. There had been too many names and places, too many false identities, just too many lies. Sammy hated that part of their life and was becoming more and more vocal about sharing his unhappiness with their lifestyle.

Dean hadn't brought a book home from school for the last two years. Now at Finewood High he was expected to pull fair grades, keep out of trouble and not draw any unnecessary attention. No fighting, no back talking teachers, no skipping classes or homework. Gone was the freedom of knowing he wouldn't be responsible for incomplete work because they were going to be gone before the semester was done.

As a result of Dean's academic lagging he and Sammy had struck up a partnership. Dean swallowed his pride and asked his sixth grade brother help him with this sophomore homework and studying. Sammy also agreed to try a little harder in training to keep their dad happy. For Dean's part of the deal he agreed to sweet talk their dad into letting Sammy join the track team and knowledge bowl club. Once a month Dean promised to chauffer Sam and his friends out for pizza and to a movie, without complaint.

Two months had passed and so far Dean hadn't flunked any tests or assignments. Sammy and their dad hadn't had a single screaming match. Dean was on the track team too, a condition placed by their dad so Dean could keep an eye on Sam. He really didn't mind, after all, his goofball little brother was his best friend. One of the few good things about Finewood High School was that it was for grades 6-12, so he and Sammy saw each other during the day. Dean knew that was another one of the reasons his dad had chosen this town to settle in.

There was a solid class distinction in Finewood. On one side of the social railroad tracks were the blue collar kids, poor and brooding. They knew there was no future for them in a town like Finewood, where factory work and service jobs were the only opportunities they would ever have. On the other side were the rich kids, children of the old money families who ran the factories, the town and everything in it. Most of them were snobs of the worst kind. Dean walked the fine line between the two groups. He fit in naturally with the working class kids, after all, he was one of them. But his charm and athleticism helped him cross over and hang out with some of the more popular kids, even though he always felt out of place there.

As he locked up the Impala Dean thought maybe that was why he had a general feeling of unease about this party, because he knew he just didn't fit in. As he walked up to the brick mansion his years of training automatically took over. By the time he reached the door he knew there were 16 cars parked throughout the front of the property which meant a minimum of 24 people inside if he played the averages. The volume and style of music indicated adult supervision was most likely nonexistent. The smell of beer and weed was filtering out of the house. He knew he would have to be extra careful to monitor anything he consumed inside to avoid anyone slipping him something in a beer. He had no interest in any other kind of drug. Dean's real life had thrills, chills and excitement enough without being artificially enhanced.

Dean's plan was to make his appearance, grab a beer, schmooze the snobs a little bit, eat as much as he could and get the hell out of there without any trouble. His plans changed in a hurry when he stepped through the front door. He wondered why he hadn't listened to his instincts?

A/N: Hope you like it! Chapter 2 is on its way! Let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sam Winchester was in full pout mode as he cleaned up the kitchen from the frozen pizza supper he shared with his father. Not so much as a word had been spoken during their meal. Cupboards were being slammed, cups and flatware being violently tossed in the sink. John had intended to let his son just ride out this tantrum when Sam slapped the dishrag on the table so hard it sprayed water on his paperwork.

"Samuel Winchester!" John roared.

"Sorry." Sam clipped out in a tone that indicated he was anything but.

"Young man, do you mind sharing with me what bug crawled up your butt this time?" John took a deep breath and tried to rein in his temper. He and Sam had been getting along so much better these past few weeks he really didn't want to lose his cool.

"Why? You don't listen, you never listen!" Sam snapped.

John had nearly enough of this fight. It was the same argument they had been having since Dean left. "You're right Sam. I'm not going to listen to anymore about this. We had this discussion. You are not getting your way and you are behaving like a child having a tantrum right now."

"Am not!" Sam snarked back, but even to himself he sounded like a whiny brat. He let out a huff of air and plopped himself down in one of the worn out kitchenette chairs. Things had been going so well over the last few weeks. His dad had been around more, they hadn't been fighting nearly as much. He had some friends at school. He was on the junior varsity track team. He thought maybe things were looking up. "Hummmff." Sam let out a puff of air, as usual, he had been wrong.

John couldn't help but smile to himself as he caught a glimpse of the stubborn toddler his younger son had been. He was working the pouty lip and puffing out sighs, begging for attention and then complaining when you gave it to him. John couldn't see his eyes, that darn shaggy brown hair needed a cut, but he was certain if he could see those dark hazel orbs there quite possibly were daggers shooting at him.

Now it was John's turn to sign. Earlier in the day he overheard a conversation between his sons. Sammy was planning on going to the movies with his friends over the weekend and Dean was reluctantly agreeing to be the driver. When Dean had asked permission to use the car it was obvious to John that he really didn't want to chauffer his little brother around on a Saturday night. The only answer he could get out of Dean was that he and Sammy made a deal and he was keeping his end of the bargain. Later on, when Sam was needling his older brother about a math assignment, John put his reasoning skills to use and decided that their deal had been about Sammy helping Dean with his homework. John had been angry and when Dean left for his party he had told Sammy that he was disappointed in him for bribing Dean to help with homework. He told Sammy he was grounded for the weekend. After that he had been on the receiving end of Sam Winchester's finest hissy fit.

"Honestly Sam, I'm not going to stand for much more of this. Are you looking for some extra training too?"

"No!" Sam crossed his arms across his chest and fought back his urge to cry. He was twelve years old after all, twelve year olds did not cry because their dad hurt their feelings.

"Sam?" John said, a little more compassion in his voice this time. Sam's slight lip quiver was not lost on him.

Sam wiped his hand across his nose and finally in a quiet voice said "Do you really think Dean would have to bribe me to help him with his homework?" Sam couldn't believe his father thought that little of him. It hurt him more than he thought possible.

"Well, why don't you tell me what the deal was then?"

"Because you're just going to get mad." Sam said quietly.

"I've already gotten mad Sam."

Sam looked at his father and blurted out "Dean promised to take me and my friends out once a month if I promised to train without complaining and not argue with you." Sam looked up defiantly at his father with a "so there" look.

John went over Sam's words in his mind. He was stung. Instead of being bribed to help his brother with homework his baby boy had to be bribed to tolerate his own father….him! All this while John had thought he was making progress in his relationship with his son. John abruptly got up from the table and grabbed his jacket. Out of habit he reached for the car keys which normally were kept in a bowl on the table. He froze with his hand in mid air, remembering Dean had borrowed the car.

Sam looked to his father, the momentary look of defiance gone. John looked to his son, all the anger falling away. Instead of the anger Sam was expecting John chuckled and sat back down. "Sammy, you know what we are?"

"What?"

"Too much alike for our own good." John scrubbed his hand over his stubble covered face. "I was mad at you for pouting and here I am, ready to take off and have a good ol' pout of my own." He chuckled. "You know what my old man used to say?"

Sammy relaxed and was amazed that his dad was mentioning family, his dad never talked about family. "No dad, what?"

"My old man used to say – no one can piss you off like family!" With that he and Sammy both laughed. "We are going to fight Sammy, it's part of you growing up and me letting go. But I think we were both falling into a bad habit, always thinking we are right and the other is wrong. I've tried to teach you to look at all sides of a problem in hunting, in life, and here I am never giving you the benefit of the doubt. What do you think about you and I making our own deal? I promise to listen a little better, if you promise to do the same? We'll take one day at a time."

"I think that's a deal I can handle. Thanks dad." Sam got up and wiped the wet mess up he had made on the table. He affectionately knocked into his dad's shoulder as he passed to the sink. "Hey dad?"

"Yeah Sammy?"

"Am I still grounded?"

"No, you got me on that one Sam. I overreacted. But I would appreciate it if you would let your brother off the hook. If he doesn't want to take you on Saturday, I promise I'll drive you if I'm home. How about we see if we can find a baseball game to watch for a while and leave the kitchen and the research go until later?"

"Who are you and what have you done with my father?" Sam laughed as father and son headed in to watch some television. "Do you think Dean is having a good time at his party?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dean knew the second he saw the smirk on Arlene's face that something was up. Arlene Anderson, and her twin brother Artie, were the party hosts. Their parents owned the lumber yard in town, and had for generations. They were the most obnoxious kids in school but their party was the 'place to be' and if you were invited it meant you were in good with the A-list crowd.

The first couple weeks of school both twins had made a point of rudely ignoring Dean, making nasty comments for his benefit, the usual high school bitchy behavior. Because they were the leaders of their pack everyone else followed suit, or else they would suffer the wrath of their leaders. But for the last couple weeks Artie had been warming up to Dean, they were on the track team together. They had been paired up as lab partners in chemistry and managed well enough. Dean was beginning to think perhaps he had been wrong about Artie.

Before Dean could react to Arlene he was grabbed roughly from behind by several large guys, his jacked was ripped off and his were arms pinned behind his back. A foul smelling gunnysack was dragged over his head and shoulders. He felt the cold metal and heard the click of handcuffs, securing his hands behind his back. He could hear laughter as he was dragged forward several yards and roughly thrown on the floor. Before he could sit up fully the sack was pulled off and he could see he was on the floor of a closet, he looked to the doorway to see Arlene and Artie laughing surrounded by every jock and wanna-be from school.

"You definitely needed to be put in your place Deanie." Arlene said in her cutesy sing-song voice. "Frumpy Frances over there has the keys. If you guys can figure out how to get out of here we might let you losers leave." After more laughter Artie leaned forward flipped the light switch on in the closet, the closet door was slammed shut and Dean could hear the lock click.

"Shit!" he mumbled to himself as he tried to get into a sitting position. He had landed hard and something was poking into his shoulder. The light gave faint illumination to the inside of the closet. Dean could see boxes above on shelves, coats hanging across the back. As he brought his gaze down he saw he wasn't alone. Sitting across from him, hands behind her back and mouth gagged, was a girl he recognized from school. Dean remembered her from the first couple days of school, she was in a few of his classes and was the other new kid in town. She was average build, her dark blonde hair always pulled away from her face by a headband. Her clothes were worn. She was definitely from the poor part of town. Dean recalled thinking she was very shy, she never spoke in class and was always alone. The whole fitting in process didn't seem to be working out much better for her.

As he sat up and leaned back against the opposite wall he looked at what had been poking him in the shoulder. A pair of broken wire-rimmed glasses was on the floor. "Yours?" he looked at the girl. She looked at the broken glasses and with her head down she nodded slightly. Well at least she isn't crying, Dean thought to himself.

"I'm not going to hurt you, you know that right?"

Her head snapped up and startling green eyes flashed at him. She wasn't crying, but Frances looked pissed. She nodded again, this time harder, almost like she dared him to try and do something because she would kick his ass.

"Okay, I'm going to scoot over and try to get that gag out of your mouth. Don't freak out or anything."

The girl continued to glare at him as he scooted across the closet floor so he was directly in front of her. Dean thought of standing and trying to get the gag out of her mouth using his hands but instead leaned forward and with his mouth bit into the fabric of the gag over her cheek. He saw an ugly bruise that was forming there. He pulled back and felt her doing the same, there was enough slack in the gag so he was able to pull it down under her chin and she immediately spit the scarf out of her mouth and coughed. Dean scooted back to his side of the closet, not sure what to expect.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Are you okay?"

Another nod. "I tripped and landed on my face when they threw me in here, they thought it was pretty funny."

After an awkward silence Dean finally said, "I'm Dean Winchester, sorry but I don't remember your name."

"Frances Frank."

"Well Frances, Arlene said you have the keys?"

Frances glared at him and her face flushed deep crimson. "It's okay to call me Fran if you want….and kind of." She said and looked away.

"What does that mean…kind of?" Dean asked, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.

Fran stared again at what was left of her glasses on the floor, her face flushed in embarrassment. "Arlene put one key in my bra and dropped the other down the front of my pants." What had she been thinking coming to this party?

Dean stared at her in open mouthed amazement, "You have got to be kidding me!"

Angry green eyes flashed at him again. "Do you really think that I would make that up?"

"What the hell is wrong with these people?" Dean was pretty sure he could hear laughter coming from the other side of the door. In the top corner of the closet he could see what looked like a camera set-up. His guess was they were being filmed and recorded.

"I would say….lots," was the answer Fran gave him. She was dreading where this was going. What would this guy do to get out of this closet? He couldn't be some nerdy goofball either. Oh no, he had to be one of the hottest guys she had ever laid eyes on.

Dean chuckled, "Yeah, no shit. How long have you been here?"

Fran closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "About an hour. Listen, can we just get this over with?" Is it possible to die of embarrassment she wondered?

Dean scooted forward again and grabbed the frame of the broken glasses. "I'm not planning on playing their little game. You know we are being watched, right?" He jerked his head toward the camera.

Fran shook her head. "Unbelievable," was all she said.

"No kidding," Dean replied. With his fingers he was working the thin metal frame from the glasses back and forth. Finally the end snapped off and he went to work on the handcuffs behind his back.

Frances watched him squirming around and obviously deeply concentrating on something. "What are you doing?"

Dean glanced up, "My dad was special forces in the marines. He taught me a few survival techniques. Never thought I would need them for a high school party though." Dean continued to work the metal frame into the lock of his handcuffs.

"You new in town too?" He asked, thinking it would be a good idea to keep some sort of small talk going.

Fran felt the curtain of sorrow closing around her, "I was sent here in August to live with my uncle."

"Oh yeah? We moved here in August too. My dad moves around a lot for work. How did you end up here with your uncle?"

There was a long moment of silence and Dean thought Fran wasn't going to answer. Finally he got a quiet reply. "My family was killed in a house fire in July. My uncle is my only living relative."

Dean stopped working his lock pick and looked at Frances. Fire. He hated fire. He had a brief flash of his beautiful mother and the pain that always accompanied his memories of her. He couldn't imagine losing his entire family. Dean could tell Fran was trying to keep it together, the pain evident on her face. Her deep green eyes sparkling behind gathering tears. How could these people be so cruel to someone who had recently lost so much? "I didn't know, I'm sorry."

Frances just shrugged and looked away, her face flushed and her chin quivering slightly. She didn't share that her uncle was a mean drunk who she didn't really know at all until she was sent to live with him.

What Dean did next was something that he had never, ever done before, but for some reason it felt right. "My mom died in a fire when I was four. I still miss her every day. It's not the same but I might know a little bit about how you feel…. if you ever want to talk about it."

Frances turned to look at her fellow captive, a single tear escaped when she blinked. "I'm sorry about your mom.….I can't….I mean, it's too…hard right now. Thanks though." She took a deep breath and closed her eyes and another tear rolled down her cheek. Frances dropped her head to her knees and concentrated on trying not to cry.

Dean was more determined than ever to get free. He had an overwhelming urge to bust out of this closet and kick some snooty ass. He continued working on his cuffs with renewed determination and before long heard a snap. He brought his hands around and rubbed his sore wrists. After a couple more minutes there was a second pop and the metal bracelets dropped in his lap. Frances looked up, dry eyed, and smiled. "Wow, you really did it!"

Dean flashed her his best smile and wiggled his eyebrows, "Your turn."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Frances rubbed her sore wrists after Dean got her cuffs off. "Thanks, I was beginning to lose the feeling in my hands."

"Yeah, yours were on way too tight."

Frances attempted to get up off the floor, her hands weren't the only thing that was numb. As she stood Dean took her elbow and steadied her. "You okay?"

"I think so, just sitting on the hard floor for too long. My rear end is numb. What do we do now?"

"Well, I am going to pick this lock and then we are going to get the hell out of here." Dean was more than ready to put this night behind him.

Frances stood back and let Dean work on the lock. She rubbed her cold arms and hoped Dean would be able to give her a ride home. Artie had picked her up in his Lexus. For the last couple weeks he had gone out of his way to be kind to Frances. So much for that, she thought with a huff. She couldn't believe she had been foolish enough to fall for his pretense of interest in her.

Dean worked patiently on the lock. He noticed Frances rubbing her arms and shivering slightly. They must have taken her coat too. Damn, he thought. His car keys were in his jacket pocket. If these ass hats did anything to the Impala….well, Dean didn't even want to think about that.

Finally there was another click. Dean stood up and looked at Frances. "So Fran, you ready to blow this popsicle stand?"

A small grin tugged at the corners of Fran's mouth and she nodded.

Dean opened the door and stepped into the foyer followed closely by Frances. They were greeted by Arlene and Artie standing with their arms crossed in dismay. They wore matching expressions of hatred and anger and were surrounded by their cronies, some of whom had the good sense to look embarrassed.

Dean gently took Frances by the arm and turned to the twins. In a voice that channeled Thurston Howell the 3rd from the old Gilligan's Island show he said, "Thank you for the lovely time but we really must dash. Perhaps Jeeves could bring our coats so Lovey and I can bop on over to the water polo match."

Artie stepped forward and pushed Dean, hard. "You aren't going anywhere, smart ass."

Dean shoved Artie back even harder. "You really don't want to mess with me Artie. Now give us our coats so we can get out of here."

This time it was Arlene who spoke up. "You call those rags you were wearing coats. My dog wouldn't even lay on those ratty old things. We had a little cookout and threw them in the fireplace," she said, nodding in the direction of the roaring fire blazing in the main room.

Dean was shaking from anger. He couldn't believe they burned their coats. He glanced at Fran who was staring at the fireplace with a far off look on her face. If he was on his own he would have started throwing punches already, but he had to make sure Frances got out of here okay, no way he was letting her suffer any further embarrassment at the hands of a bitch like Arlene. Dean was relieved he had decided against wearing his leather jacket tonight, he was pretty sure he would have hulked out if they burned that coat.

All he trusted himself to say was, "Whatever. Come on Fran, let's go." He pulled Frances by the arm and headed toward the door.

But Arlene wasn't done spewing her venom just yet. "Best be careful Deanie, you don't know what you are getting into with Frumpy Frances. She might go crazy like her old man. He killed her whole family you know and then burned their house down. He killed everyone first, right Frances?"

Frances froze in her tracks, her blood ran cold. "Don't talk about my family," was all she said her voice deadly calm.

Dean still had Frances by the arm, he felt her tremble.

Arlene kept talking and turned to her audience, she had obviously been waiting to tell her story. "I heard he went crazy and murdered everyone during the night, one by one. He even killed his own mother! He set the house on fire to hide the evidence. When the police got there he was trying to drag Frances back into the burning house. It took eight shots for the police to kill him. Isn't that right Frances? How did you get outside anyway?" Arlene gave everyone a moment to absorb what she was saying. The room was deadly quiet.

"Frances told the police it wasn't her father, that it was like someone else was using his body, how lame! You know what I think?" Arlene continued, "I think you were in on it with daddy dearest. I think you and daddy probably had something kinky going on and…" Arlene never got a chance to finish that sentence.

Frances moved so fast that even Dean, with all his defensive training, didn't have time to react. With a primal scream she lunged at Arlene, who tripped backing up and landed with a thud, right on her ass.

"You fucking bitch!" Frances flew at her, but Dean snapped out of his reverie and was able to grab her in mid air before she landed on Arlene. "Don't you dare talk about my family….about my father….I'm going to bash your fucking brains in!"

Dean struggled to hold on to Frances, who was trying her best to land a punch or a kick to Arlene's stunned face. Artie stood by laughing, unconcerned with his sister and thinking Fran's breakdown was hysterical.

"Come on Frannie, let's go." Dean actually had to lift her, kicking and screaming, and point her toward the door.

"No!" Frances yelled. "Who the hell does she think she is! I want to teach her a lesson! Let me go!"

No one else in the crowd moved, instead they stared in stunned silence as Dean led Frances out the door. Jerks, Dean thought to himself as they entered the cold November night.

"Frances," Dean said calmly once outside. He turned Frances toward him and held her firmly by the shoulders, "if you hit her it will just end badly for you. I know how assholes like this operate. It was a set up from the beginning, don't you see? I think she wanted you to hit her. Then she could use her power and influence to ruin your life forever. She is one sick puppy. Please, let's just get you home."

The cold night air seemed to snap Frances out of her rage. "Home? I don't have a home anymore. I live with my uncle in some stinking one bedroom apartment. I never even met him before the funerals! He treats me like shit and scares me to death. Now I can't even go to school, how can I ever show my face there again after this? It was bad before, I can't imagine what it is going to be like now!" She looked at Dean, shaking violently, and utterly defeated.

Dean pulled Fran into a hug and held her while she shook. He couldn't be sure if she was crying or just trembling from cold and exhaustion. He couldn't help but think how alone she must feel. This girl had not only lost her whole family, but she witnessed their deaths. He closed his own eyes against the image of his mother's body burning on Sam's nursery ceiling. No one knew what he had seen that night, he never spoke of it. It took months for him to recover, and he had his dad and Sammy. Frances had no one, just an uncle she was obviously scared of.

Dean took a deep breath and pulled Fran's chin up so he could look at her. Her eyes were red rimmed and watery, every breath hitched in her throat and her chin was trembling. The bruise on her cheek from landing on the floor of the closet looked dark against her pale skin. She stared off into the distance. "Fran, it will be okay. I promise."

Fran tried to look at Dean and desperately wanted to believe that he could make things okay. She didn't want to break the embrace, it had been so long since anyone had shown her any sort of affection. She longed to be comforted and cared for again. Last fall she had been part of her school's homecoming royalty. She was popular in school and had a loving family. She really didn't know how much longer she could hang on in the midst of all her misery. Maybe she should go back and beat the crap out of Arlene, at least then she wouldn't have to go back to school or to her uncle. Could juvenile hall or foster care really be any worse than this?

Dean didn't like the dull look that was coming over Fran's expression, he suspected she was most likely shutting down or going into shock from the emotional overload she was experiencing.

"Fran? Are you still with me?" He gently asked. "Listen, we are going to go back to my place. My dad is there, and my little brother. We can figure this out. My dad will know what to do." He took her hand and led her through the dark maze of cars to the Impala, glad to remember there was a spare set of keys hidden in the undercarriage.

As they finally came upon the Impala Dean could see a couple of the jocks from school behind the car, with the trunk open and his keys still dangling from the lock. "Shit," Dean muttered. Honestly, could this night get any worse?


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Dean stopped in the darkness and motioned for Fran to be quiet. Without making a sound he walked up behind the two ass hats leaning into the trunk of the Impala. They looked like Dirk and Ethan, part of Artie's goon entourage.

"Hey, ass wipes!" Dean yelled when he was directly behind them. Both guys startled and smacked their heads on the trunk.

"Ouch!" Dirk squawked, grabbing his head, at the same time Ethan let loose with his own foul lingo.

Both guys turned to face Dean. "Hey, Winchester! How did you get out of the closet so fast?" Ethan smirked.

"Yeah," Dirk chimed in. "Did you get a piece of ass? Maybe you just got your key and left, pretty boys like you might not like girls." he laughed.

Ethan laughed too and added, "Hey, is she still in there? Maybe we should head back and get our turn."

That was it. Dean saw red and within seconds both Dirk and Ethan were laid out on the ground, unconscious. Dean focused all his rage and anger into a couple well placed punches and kicks, doubtful the two idiots even knew what happened. "Jerks!" Dean spit out at their unconscious forms. He drug both guys away from the Impala and out of any danger of being run over.

He made his way back to Fran and led her to the car. She was looking at Dean like he had just sprouted another head. "What?" he finally asked.

"How did you do that?" She asked in awe.

"That? I told you, my dad taught me some survival techniques. Jerks like that are all talk. Didn't take much to knock them out." Dean walked to the trunk of the Impala and breathed a sigh of relief to realize his dad had padlocked the false bottom. The only thing Dirk and Ethan found were a couple blankets and some miscellaneous gear. The weapons were all safely tucked away. Dean grabbed a new looking blanket and closed the trunk.

Fran continued to stare at Dean, "You're like some sort of superhero," she said as Dean wrapped her in the blue blanket and led her to the passenger door.

Dean smiled, "Nah, that would be my dad. I'm just a superhero in training." He slid behind the wheel and started the engine. Dean turned down the driveway and was just about to get back on the road when he paused.

"What's wrong?" Fran asked.

"Your glasses. I forgot all about them. They should have to pay for a new pair." Dean felt another wave of anger wash over him at the thought of the way Fran had been treated tonight.

"I really just want to get out of here Dean. I can function without my glasses, my vision isn't too terrible. Let's just get back to town." Fran settled back into the comfy leather seat and pulled the blanket a little tighter around herself. Her uncle was not going to be happy that she needed another jacket and a new pair of glasses. Maybe he wouldn't be home, he was an over-the-road trucker, if he was gone for a few days she might be able to figure something out on her own.

They drove in silence for a few miles. Dean decided to talk to his dad about the glasses. His dad was going to be ticked off enough they way it was. Wait until he told him they burned their jackets! Oh yeah, his dad was going to get some payback out of this. Dean smiled at the thought. John Winchester didn't sit back and let anyone treat his kids like shit.

Thinking of his dad reminded Dean of the events of the evening and the things said about Fran's father. Something was bothering him. "Fran?" he asked.

"Hmmm," Frances was nearly dozing in the warm coziness of the blanket and gentle movement of the car.

"Can I ask you something?"

Frances sat up. Here it comes, she thought. "I guess."

"You don't have to answer but I was wondering about something Arlene said."

Fran paused, wondering which part of Arlene's story her companion was wondering about. "Okay," she finally said.

Dean took a breath and tired to find the right words, the last thing he wanted to do was cause Fran anymore pain. "What did you mean when you said it was like someone else was using his body?"

Fran closed her eyes and tipped her head back on the seat. That wasn't the question she had been expecting. People usually wanted to know about the deaths. "It doesn't matter, no one believed me. Everything was so awful, I don't really know what I meant."

"I'll believe you Frances." He glanced at her, trying to convey his earnestness. "I'll believe you."

Several more minutes passed in silence and Dean thought that Fran had fallen asleep. She kept her eyes closed and her head back. When she answered her words were quiet and careful.

"He was different. He _looked_ like my dad, but his mannerisms were completely different. The way he spoke. The horrible things he said…..and his eyes, they weren't my dad's eyes."

Dean felt a shiver cross the back of his neck. He really didn't like how this was sounding. "Did his eyes look like they turned black?"

Fran's head snapped up and she looked over at Dean. "Why do you ask that?"

Dean took another breath and thought about what to say. He didn't want Fran to think he was a nut job, but he needed her to know she could trust him. "It's hard to explain," he finally said. "The work my dad does, well he helps people who sometimes find themselves in situations where no one else believes them. The night my mom died…the fire that killed her wasn't normal. Something strange happened and no one believed my dad. He has spent the last 12 years trying to find answers to what happened." He looked over to see Fran watching him with a suspicious expression. Yep, Dean thought, she's thinking I'm crazy right about now.

"Fran listen, I just wanted you to know that I'll believe whatever you tell me. I've worked with my dad for a while and I've seen some things that no one would believe. Forget I asked, I thought I read somewhere that people who seem to change like your dad, well their eyes sometimes appear to turn black. That's all. Forget I said anything."

They were nearly back at the apartment. Fran hadn't said anything else and Dean was pretty sure he had screwed things up. Just as he pulled into the parking lot Fran finally answered.

"His eyes were completely black."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

John and Sam heard the Impala pull up in front of the apartment. Their latest home was a small two bedroom bungalow, one of six units in an L-shaped complex. It was still early and John hadn't been expecting Dean home for at least another couple hours. He expected Dean to blow into the room any second, with an animated tale of the party. When a few minutes passed and there was no Dean both John and Sam went to the front door to see what was going on.

"Sam, stay here." John ordered when he realized Dean was sitting in the car and he wasn't alone. Damn, John thought, if he brought a girl back here and is out there necking, right in front of our door, I am so going to kick that boy's ass.

"Dad? Is something wrong?" Sam asked.

"I don't know. There is someone with Dean. You stay here until I know what is going on." John slipped on his coat and placed his gun in the waistband at the small of his back. He looked about out the window. Well, he was sitting out there with a girl, but they weren't necking. It may have been a long time since John made out with a girl in a car, but he knew that you probably had to be sitting a little closer than these two.

John opened the front door just as Dean was getting out of the Impala. "Hi Dad," Dean waived to his father as he went around to the passenger side of the car.

"Hi Dean," John answered, "what's going on? And where the hell is your jacket, it's freezing out here."

Dean opened the door and a young, pale girl got out of the car. She was wrapped in a blue blanket that John recognized as the one he had just put in the trunk of the Impala as part of a special project. The girl looked shyly at Dean who was saying something along the lines of "It's okay, honest. He'll know what to do." Good Lord, John thought, this should be interesting.

Sam watched his brother and a girl get out of the car and make their way toward the apartment. Dean didn't have his jacket and the girl was wrapped in a blanket. That was odd. As they got closer Sam recognized her as a girl from school. He was pretty sure she was new this year too, she was usually alone in the lunch room and he had seen her at the library a few times. He thought she usually wore glasses.

John entered the apartment in front of Dean and the girl. He stood with his back to the wall, his right hand on his hip, pushing his jacket back and giving himself easy access to his weapon. He didn't like the boys bringing strangers into their home without his permission. He looked again at the girl and realized her cheek was bruised and she looked to have been crying.

Once they were all in the apartment Dean turned to the girl. "This is my dad, John Winchester. And this," he playfully punched his little brother in the arm, "is my dorky little brother, Sam. Dad, Sam, this is Frances Frank, but you can call her Fran."

Sam knocked his brother's arm away. "Hi Fran, you go to Finewood don't you?"

Fran nodded. She rubbed her tired eyes and realized she was getting a monster headache. Maybe she needed her glasses more than she thought. "Yes, I do. It's nice to meet you both."

"So Fran," John started, "why don't you sit down and tell me about that nice shiner you have working for you?"

Fran flushed and put her hand to her cheek, in all the excitement of the evening she had almost forgotten about her face plant in the closet.

Dean led Fran to one of their ratty kitchen chairs where she sat, still wrapped in the blanket.

"Funny you should ask about that Dad. Seems Fran and I were the entertainment for the party tonight. Breaking her glasses and burning our coats were just a couple of the highlights." He looked to Fran. "How about I tell them about how much fun we had at the party? We can talk about the rest of the stuff after." Fran just nodded again, she was feeling terribly self conscious and embarrassed.

Dean looked at his little brother and said "Sammy, do we have any soda?"

"Sure, Dean." Sam went to the fridge and got a can of lemon lime soda for each of them. Fran gratefully took the drink, she didn't realize how thirsty she was. She smiled at Sam, "Thanks."

Dean drank his entire soda in four huge gulps and went on to tell the story from beginning to end. He was very gentlemanly when talking about the handcuff keys, saying only that Arlene had given them to Fran so the only way Dean could get them would be to embarrass her. He glossed over the awful things Arlene said about Fran's father too, saying only that Arlene said cruel things about the death of her family.

Fran watched as Mr. Winchester's face got redder and redder as the story went on. Any fool could see how angry he was getting. Every so often he repeated something Dean said. "They handcuffed you!" He had shouted, and "What do you mean they burned your coats!" By the time Dean got to the part about finding Dirk and Ethan at the trunk of the car Mr. Winchester looked like he was ready to explode.

Sam was equally outraged. He couldn't believe that anyone would be so mean, especially to a girl. That they had broken her glasses, gagged and handcuffed her and then locked her in a closet thinking that Dean would….well he didn't really want to think about that part of their plan. If his dad was heading back to the Anderson's house to break some heads he wanted a part of that action.

"So," Dean finished, "that is why Fran is wrapped up in your blanket. I think I hit the highlights. Fran, did I leave anything out?"

Fran shook her head. "No, I think that about covers it." She was starting to get that sick feeling of dread in her stomach, knowing she would have to head home soon. She was worried about what sort of reaction she would get from her uncle.

John was having a very difficult time containing his anger. "I think," he said finally, heading for the door, "that I need to pay a visit to the Anderson family and see about getting Fran's glasses back." Sam was ready to join his father, he got up from the table and grabbed his jacket.

Dean grabbed his father's arm, "Dad, normally I would be all for a little payback. But here is some other stuff that I think you need to hear. The Anderson's can wait."

Sam was just as angry as John and he really wanted to help teach these people a lesson, "They can't get away with treating you like that. We gotta do something!"

Dean smiled at his little brother, all puffed up and ready for action. If he only felt this way about hunting, Dean found himself thinking. "Sam, any other time I would be right there with you on this. But we got out of there and are basically okay. There are a couple other things Fran needs our help with right now that are more important. I promise, whatever we do, you will be part of the plan." He pulled his little brother into a one armed hug.

John sat at the kitchenette and motioned his sons to do the same. He noticed Fran had wrapped herself more tightly in the blanket, she looked like a frightened child. "Fran, what is it that you need our help with?"

Fran didn't know what to say. Dean put his hand on her shoulder, "Fran, go ahead and tell my dad and Sam what you told me about the night your family was killed. I believe you Fran, and they will to."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

After taking a deep breath Fran began telling them about the night her family died. She had been at a friend's house watching movies. It was summer so she could stay out later. It was 10:30 when her friend's mom dropped her off and Fran knew something was off as soon as she walked in the house. It was oddly quiet. Normally her parents would still be up. Her older brother would be watching television, her little sister would be arguing about going to bed. Her grandmother lived with them too, sometimes she had trouble sleeping. They had two dogs and a cat that always wanted attention. The Frank house was always full of life, love and noise.

But that night in July something was different. The silence was deafening. There was a smell in the air, like sulfur mixed with a sickeningly sweet odor. Fran walked through the kitchen and looked toward the family room. There was blood everywhere. The walls were covered in blood. There was blood in puddles on the floor. She saw the bloody, mangled bodies of her family. She wanted to scream, but nothing would come out. She wanted to run away, but couldn't move.

Then she realized she wasn't alone, her father was sitting on the arm of the sofa. He looked up at her and sneered. "Frances, Frances, Frances…tsk…tsk…tsk. You missed all the fun." He laughed like her father had never laughed before. His eyes were completely black.

The man that had once been her father got up and walked toward her. As he walked he trailed his hand along the wall, leaving a thick smear of blood. "Don't worry sweetie," he said as he got closer, "I saved something special for you." He looked back at the carnage and laughed wickedly. "Looks like the family room turned into the family tomb, huh Frannie?"

Fran just stood dumbfounded as her father abruptly stopped laughing. He raised his hand and appeared to shoot flames into the furniture. The entire room burst into flames. "Pre-game is over Frances. Time for you to come and give Daddy a great….big….hug." He opened his arms wide and threw his head back, laughing as the fire spread up the walls.

The wailing of the smoke alarms startled her black-eyed father and seemed to snap Frances out of her stupor. She turned and ran from the house. He gave chase and grabbed her as she ran into the front yard. Fran screamed like she had never screamed before, knowing her life would be over within seconds.

Suddenly there were sirens and yelling. Police were on her front lawn. The neighbor who dropped her off had seen their dogs, both of which had been killed and were laying in bloody piles on the front lawn. She had called the police to report it, asking them to be discrete and not upset the family.

Fran remembered hearing someone say something, that it sounded like she was in a movie, something like "Stop or I'll shoot." Her father just laughed again and lunged for Frances. There were gunshots. Her father stopped laughing. He threw his head back and a thick swirl of black smoke flew from his mouth and nose, spinning around them and circling up until it appeared to shoot toward the sky.

Fran looked at her father then. His eyes were the deep forest green that she remembered, the black was gone. She would always remember those eyes, filled with agony. "Fran…." he whispered, just as several more shots rang out. Her entire family and the only life she had ever known was gone.

After that there were police and firemen, reporters and medical personnel, social workers and clergy, a constant parade of people. She remembered very little from the weeks that followed. The funerals were a blur. Her uncle had been contacted and showed up playing the part of her mother's concerned little brother. The truth was that her uncle, Gerard Carpenter, was a drunk who her mother had been estranged from for many years. Fran had no recollection of meeting him before. Regardless, the social workers deemed him a fit and proper person to have custody, meaning he also had control of her finances.

Within weeks of moving to Finewood her uncle had lost what little insurance money there had been. He made no attempt to accommodate his niece, they stayed in the same rundown one bedroom apartment he had lived in before. Frances slept on the couch, she had no money, only the clothes she came with. When her Uncle Gerard was home he was usually drunk. He worked as an over-the-road trucker and was gone for days at a time, leaving no money or food. The last couple times her uncle had been home he had started making rude comments and suggestions to Frances, she was getting more frightened of him.

Her uncle had been home when Artie Anderson picked her up for the party. Artie had said comforting things to Frances about keeping her safe and putting in a good word with his father so that she might get a part-time job at his family's business. She had started the evening full of hope that her life might be getting a little better. But within seconds of arriving at the party she was treated to the same welcome Dean received. Now she had no coat, no glasses and had to go home to her vile Uncle Gerard, who was most likely drunk. She honestly felt like she was at the end of her rope.

Fran wiped the tears from her face, tears she didn't even know she had shed during the telling of her story, took another deep breath and looked up at the Winchesters. The kitchen was still, no one had moved or said a word while she talked. Mr. Winchester had the strangest expression on his face, Fran couldn't tell if he was angry with her or wanting to comfort her.

The silence was more than she could handle. Finally she said, "Now is the part where you tell me I'm crazy and that I was imagining things. I've heard it all before, no one believed me." She took the tissue Dean silently offered her and noisily blew her nose. "I just don't know what I'm going to do now. Things really can't get any worse."

John chuckled lightly at that comment. "Fran, never say things can't get any worse, because in my experience, they usually do."

Sam had listened to Fran's story and was filled with sadness. He liked this girl and couldn't believe the horror she had been through. He knew they had to help her. "Dad," he asked, "is there anything we can do?"

Dean also looked to his father, "It was a demon, wasn't it Dad?"

"Most likely. With the black eyes, black smoke and smell of sulfur I can't imagine what else it would have been." He scrubbed his hand over his face. This evening sure took a turn. He wondered what brought a demon to this girl's family, it certainly didn't sound like a random attack.

"Fran," John tried to sound gentle but it sounded more like a bark. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Sorry…ahem…Fran, was anyone in your family involved with the occult? Had anyone done anything that would draw something evil to your family?"

Frances could not believe she was hearing this. Not only did these people appear to believe her, they were talking about demons like they were discussing baseball. "You're kidding me, right?"

Dean rolled his eyes at his father. Sam muttered, "Way to go dad."

John was frustrated, dealing with victims was never easy. Even though they had seen the unexplained with their own eyes they still refused to accept the possibility. "Listen, this is what I do Fran. What we do." He motioned to include Dean and Sam. "Things happen that can't be explained. I have made it my job to deal with those things, to try to save people, to save _families_ from never having to face the same horror that we have had to deal with. I have dealt with a few demons in the past, even performed a few exorcisms. There are methods of trapping them, sending them back to hell. Your father didn't kill your family, but a demon did."

Fran looked at John in disbelief. Some of what he said made sense, but it was a lot to take in. "You have dealt with demons before?"

"Yes. I have a friend, a mentor really, who specializes in demons and exorcisms."

She looked at Sam and Dean. "Have you dealt with demons before too?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, Dad thinks they are too dangerous for me yet, I only get to do the easy stuff like salt and bur…." Dean cut himself off when he saw the sharp look his father was giving him. Sam didn't catch on quite so quickly.

"Yeah, I don't even get to help with that, all I do is research and clean weapons. You know dad, it really isn't fair…."

"Sam!" John said sharply, "time and place boys, time and place okay?"

"Sorry sir." They said in unison.

Fran's eyes were wide and she looked from one Winchester to the other, really not knowing if she should be relieved people believed her or worried that she was with an insane family. "What do you mean you only get to do the easy stuff?" she asked Dean.

John answered for his son, not wanting things to get too far out of hand. "There are other evil things besides demons. Let's not worry about those things right now."

"What can you do about the demon that killed my family?"

"Not much Fran. He wasn't exorcised so that means he is out there somewhere. We will need to do some research, see if we can figure out why he targeted you and your family, see if there are any other stories similar to yours. If we can find a pattern of some sort maybe we could find the demon and exorcise it."

Dean had a thought about something Fran had said about the night her family died. "Dad, didn't Fran say the demon that killed her family told her he had something special planned for her, or something like that, do you think she could still be in danger?"

John had been thinking pretty much that very thing but hadn't wanted to mention it. Now he looked at the young girl sitting before him. She pulled the blanket draped over her shoulders more tightly around herself. John realized that she had most likely been thinking the same thing. Knowing he had to answer the expectant faces before him he said, "It's a possibility we have to consider."

"What do we do?" Sam asked.

"Right now," John said as he got up from the kitchenette, "I think it would be best to get Fran home. We can give her some training on what to look for and some simple ways to protect herself. We'll be around here for a while so we can help keep an eye on things."

Dean also got up from the table, thinking it was time to take Frances back home but John stopped him.

"Dean, I want you to stay here with Sammy. I'll take Frances home."

"Why you?"

"I'd like to meet her uncle. I would like to make it clear to him that Fran's safety has become very important to me."

"Sam and I can still come along, he might take a lot of convincing." Dean suggested.

"No boys, I think it would be best if I took Fran home tonight. I'm anticipating pissing her uncle off. I think it would be best if he doesn't know you are my son, that way you can check on her tomorrow. Same for Sammy. He'll be less likely to be suspicious of you two if he doesn't know you are my sons."

"I suppose," Dean reluctantly agreed, to Fran he said "is that okay with you?"

Fran was feeling the effects of the last few hours, she was tired and had a pounding headache. Really, she thought, what choice did she have? "Yes, that's okay with me."

"Good," John said, "let's get you home."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Fran pulled the blanket tightly around herself and reveled in the warmth it provided. She would be sorry to return it to Mr. Winchester when they got to her uncle's small apartment. The ramshackle bungalow had questionable heat and Fran's hide-a-bed was covered with a threadbare old bedspread and single sheet. She had gotten used to going to bed in her sweat pants and sweatshirt now that the nights were getting colder.

John followed Fran's directions to the ratty little bungalows on the outskirts of town. John had looked at an apartment here himself and found them to be too questionable to leave his family in. That was saying a lot.

They pulled to the curb and John cut the engine. Fran saw her uncle's truck in the parking lot and her heart sank. She had really been hoping that he wouldn't be home and she could avoid dealing with things yet again.

"That's my uncle's truck," she said quietly, nodding in the direction of the semi in the nearly deserted parking lot, "so he must be home. Listen, Mr. Winchester, I'm sorry about all the trouble I've caused you this evening. I really appreciate the ride home."

John looked at the young girl curled on the front seat of his car and felt the familiar rush of mixed emotions that plagued him in these situations. He could best describe it to himself as a mix of normal a middle class dad and a commander protecting his troops all rolled into one. He smiled at the young girl.

"Sweetie, you didn't cause any trouble. We'll figure this whole thing out, don't worry. In the meantime, I want you to remember that if you need anything, and I mean anything at all, I want you to call. Do you understand?"

Fran just smiled sadly and nodded, nervously looking at the bungalow door.

"All right then," John glanced at the garbage overflowing with liquor bottles at the curb, "let's go meet Uncle Gerard." After Fran got out of the Impala he muttered to himself, "This should be fun."

Fran walked to the door and as she reached for the handle it her uncle yanked it open. Before Fran could register what was happening Uncle Gerard grabbed her wrist and violently pulled her into the apartment. As she turned to ask what was happening he backhanded her across the face, over the exact spot she was already bruised. Fran cried out and fell to the floor in a tangle of blue blanket and confusion.

John burst into the apartment. "What the hell do …." But the words were lost when he saw Uncle Gerard's eyes, his very black eyes. In the blink of those black eyes John found himself pinned to the wall, spread eagle and unable to move, suspended two feet off the floor.

"Well, well, well." The demon laughed. "The little slut is delivered right to my door by none other than the great John Winchester. How delightful. I thought this was going to be just a simple reconnaissance mission to tie up some loose ends. Today must be my lucky day."

Fran tried to untangle herself from the blanket and crab walked away from her uncle. Slowly Uncle Gerard turned to face her and she saw the blackness that replaced his normally bloodshot eyes. She was frozen with fear. Uncle Gerard sneered and flicked his head. Fran found herself spun around in the air and propelled toward the wall with amazing speed and force. She turned her head a fraction of a second before her body made contact, her head slamming face first into the wall. Black spots appeared and her vision tunneled. The pain was nearly more than she could handle. She felt something warm running down her face and realized it could only be blood.

John watched in horror from across the room, barely able to move enough to draw in breath. "Leave her alone, you sick bastard!" He tried to sound menacing but he barely managed a whisper.

"Ha!" Uncle Gerard laughed. He had walked to Fran and now stood directly behind her, their bodies touching. He made a production of smelling her hair and smiling. Fran could only whimper.

"She really should be thanking me, you know John? Frannie's sweet old uncle has been thinking some pretty disturbing thoughts about his little niece. In fact, when I found him today he had already decided to screw her little virgin brains out tonight." He laughed at the tears streaking down Fran's face. "Little Frannie was probably not going to see the sunrise anyway. The way I see it, I'm doing her a favor. Rape isn't my thing." He laughed again and backed away, leaving enough room for Fran to spin around in the air again and this time slam the back of her head against the wall with enough force to crack the plaster. Her vision tunneled again but she managed to hang on to consciousness.

John could feel the pressure on his ribcage increasing. He struggled to breathe while his mind raced for a way to get out of this mess. He saw the blue blanket from the trunk of the Impala abandoned on the floor. It was his only hope.

"Hey, asshole!" John tried to get the demon to focus his attention on him. "Why don't you just leave her alone!"

"Why? I'll tell you why." Uncle Gerard turned to face John. "I was sent here to finish a job that someone else screwed up. So as long as I'm here, stuck in the middle of nowhere, I'm going to have some fun."

Again he turned to Fran and with what appeared to be gentleness he touched Fran's pinned left wrist. The snap of the bone was audible. Fran screamed in agony.

"Stop!" John tried to yell.

"What? I can't hear you over all the screaming." The demon mocked. Without hesitation he made a scratching motion in the air. Fran's shirt ripped in four long gashes from her left collarbone across to her left shoulder. Fran screamed in pain and terror. The demon uncle laughed maniacally and spun her around, exposing her back. Again he scratched the air and several long gashes appeared beneath shredded fabric, blood pooling in the waistband of her jeans. Overwhelmed with pain and fear Fran's head sagged as she lost her battle with consciousness.

The demon was disappointed that she had passed out. He turned his attention to John and in a voice mimicking a petulant child said, "I suppose you will have to entertain me until she wakes up."

John was desperate, his flimsy plan even more so. Trying to sound sure and strong he sneered, "So they send you to take care of little girls. You must be a real tough guy. Why don't you come over here and see if you can handle a real man." Even in John's pain that sounded lame, but the demon took the bait.

"Don't mock me, hunter." He turned and advanced toward John, every step bringing him nearer the blue blanket. "I can pull out your liver and keep you alive so you can watch me eat it." Another step closer.

"Right," John struggled to keep his voice controlled, "look how long it took you to make a little girl pass out. You said it yourself, they sent you to clean up someone else's mess. What are you, the demon janitor?"

The demon wearing Uncle Gerard was seething from anger. He growled as he rushed John. "You'll wish you never opened your mouth you….." He had finally reached the blanket and in his anger stepped directly onto it. Both John and Fran were immediately released from the invisible restraints that held them. John landed on his feet. Fran landed in a bloody heap on the floor.

John smiled at the demon. "I'll be damned, it worked."

The demon tried to move off the blanket but was held tight in place. He couldn't so much as take a step. "You fool!" He screamed, "do you know what you have done!"

"Yep, sure do. The Key of Solomon." John pointed to the blanket with a satisfied look. He quickly moved around to check on Fran. Her pulse was rapid and she was starting to stir.

"Now if you will excuse me for a sec, I need to head out to my car and get a few supplies to exorcise your ass back to hell."

The demon scoffed, "This is not a Key of Solomon, you idiot. You created Beelzebub's Snare, a version of a devil's trap. I would suppose that in trying to create the symbols on this blanket you accidentally changed them slightly and created the snare without even knowing what you had. Humans are such a waste of air."

John made his way to the door, "I don't really care what it is called, as long as it holds you in one place until the exorcism is finished."

"I cannot be exorcised from Beelzebub's Snare! I am your prisoner, your captive. The rules of the snare are simple. While in the snare I cannot lie, I cannot deceive. From the moment you captured me in Beelzebub's Snare you have 666 seconds to make three requests of me. These can be questions or demands. I cannot deny these requests. It is my punishment for being careless enough to be caught. My shame is being the temporary servant of a human. I cannot manipulate you into foolish questions and I am required to warn you to speak carefully, anything posed to me as a question will count as one of your requests. After 666 seconds the snare will collapse and I will be returned to hell to suffer eternal humiliation. It's a messy process. This body will not survive. So think, John Winchester. You now have less than 10 minutes to make your requests."

John faced the demon. "Demons lie all the time. This is some sort of trick."

The demon spoke with a viciousness John had never before heard. "Think what you will. Time is wasting. Hope you won't mind getting some of Uncle Gerard's guts splashed on you when I explode in a ball of flames in approximately…..9 minutes and 15 seconds."

John's head was spinning. Could this be true? There were so many questions, so many things he needed to know. How could he believe anything this demon had said? The temptation was too great, he just couldn't help himself. John knew he had to ask the most important question, the question that had plagued him for the last twelve years.

"Fine, you want to play, I'll play. Tell me what happened to my wife." He crossed his arms and steeled his expression.

"Your wife was killed by a demon because she didn't do what she was told. The night her parents were murdered Mary Campbell made a deal with a very powerful demon to save your life. The terms of the deal were simple. She agreed to allow that demon access to her home in ten years time. If she stayed out of his way no one would have been hurt. However, your wife tried to interfere and was punished."

John felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room. He couldn't breathe. A demon? Could this information be trusted? His beloved wife had made a deal with a demon? That couldn't be! Mary didn't know such things existed, did she? He had to place his hand over his mouth to keep from rattling the million additional questions that popped up in his head. Who was this demon? How did Mary find him? What really happened to Mary's parents? How had his life been in danger? What did the demon want in his house?

While John was trying to decide on his next question Fran was regaining consciousness. Her pain filled whimpers seemed to snap him out of his stupor. In a moment of clarity, a mini epiphany of sorts, John realized that whatever questions he asked wouldn't be enough. Any answer the demon gave, real or fabricated, would just create more questions. That was part of the plan, part of the trap that he had created.

He looked at his watch, he was under the six minute mark. John made his way to Fran and helped her to stand. The girl was a mess, and that was putting it mildly.

"Fran, can you hear me? Can you stand?"

"….think so." She slurred as she held her left arm cradled to her blood covered shirt.

John took off his corduroy jacket and draped it over the injured girl. He then turned back to the demon and used his second request. "Tell me why you came for this girl."

The demon looked with irritation at the teenager, took a breath and began. "Her father's business competition, Chad Montgomery, wanted to buy him out. Her father wasn't selling. Long story short, Montgomery made a deal at the crossroads to get Henry Frank and his family out of the way. He specifically requested that Henry Frank suffer as much as possible first. Chad was a real gem. An inexperienced demon was sent to destroy the family. It was supposed to be an easy "beginner" assignment." The demon actually made little quote marks in the air when he spoke the word beginner.

"Unfortunately the newbie demon got sloppy and this little darling got away. I was sent to finish the job. The deal was for the entire family to be eliminated. So you see, even if I don't finish the job tonight, others will come. The deal needs to be completed. Those who come after me, and you can be sure they will be sending more than one, aren't going to be as merciful as I was."

The demon fixed his glare on Fran. "You will be made to suffer greatly for this mistake John Winchester has made." To John he said, "You have less than three minutes. What is your final request?

Fran again had been barely holding on to consciousness. The odd scene before her was fading in and out of focus. Her uncle, or what had once been her uncle, looked like he was in the middle of a tube on a long conveyor belt that was moving farther and farther away from her. With the demon's final comment about her being made to suffer greatly Fran gave up the fight. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she slipped to the ground as if melting.

John gently eased the young girl to the dingy apartment floor as she collapsed. He had enough of this game. John moved to Uncle Gerard's wallet sitting on an end table and picked it up. There was nearly $1,500 cash inside. He took the cash and tossed the wallet on the floor. He grabbed a tattered quilt that was hanging over a ratty recliner and gently wrapped Fran before he scooped her up in his arms, trying to be mindful of her injuries.

The demon watched with a confused look. "You can't leave yet, you have one final request!"

John stopped in front of the demon. "You're right, I have one final request. Here it is. No one comes after the girl. Her debt is paid, she is no longer part of someone else's deal. That is my final demand, can you do that?"

"How noble." The look on his face said he thought the request was anything but. "Fine. Her debt is paid. The deal is complete. She will be safe….from demons."

John didn't like the hesitation in the demon's answer but didn't have time to dwell on it. "Good." Without looking back John Winchester sprinted to the Impala and as quickly and gently as possible placed Fran in the passenger seat. He could hear the demon possessing Uncle Gerard scream at him from inside the building, desperate to have him return to the apartment. He was making promises of granting more wishes and answering more questions. John shut off his mind, knowing demons lie and realizing that it was a ploy to get him in the apartment when the time was up. Within seconds he was behind the wheel and racing back to his apartment. He glanced at his rear view mirror just in time to see a giant ball of fire erupt from the shabby bungalow, within seconds everything was engulfed in flame.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Dean stood in the doorway and watched when his father and Fran drove away. He turned back to the kitchen and went in search of something to stop the rumbling his stomach. The abrupt exit from the party meant no party food. The food had been the deciding factor in Dean deciding to attend the stupid party in the first place. Rich people usually put out a fancy spread, trying to show off to the poor folks. No party food, in Dean's opinion, was just another reason why the night totally sucked.

While rummaging through the frig and cupboards Dean couldn't help but worry about Fran. He realized she hadn't had anything to eat either. Dean wondered what she was going to find at her place when she got home. From the comments she had made about her uncle and their apartment, he suspected his new friend would be spending the night hungry.

Sam was still trying to come to grips with Dean's treatment by the Andersons. He couldn't believe that people he had thought were so cool at school could turn out to be so cruel. Fran's story was even worse. To see your entire family dead, killed by a demon, Sam could understand why she was so quiet at school. It had barely been a few months, she was still grieving. Sam just didn't understand how anyone would be so cruel on purpose to one who had suffered so much.

"Dean, you aren't going to let them get away with this are you?" Sam was a bundle of energy, bouncing around his brother in the small kitchen area while his brother searched through the nearly bare cupboards for something to eat.

"Sam, there are a lot of things I would like to do to those jerks at the party. But I have to be smart about this. I don't want to cause any trouble for Fran. This is going to take some serious thought. I might need a devious partner in crime. Know anyone who is up to the challenge?" He looked over at his little brother and gave a mischievous waggle of his eyebrows.

Sam's face lit up like he had just been presented with the greatest gift ever. "Really? You want me to help you plan your revenge? That is so cool!" The kid was so excited he actually clapped his hands in glee.

Dean laughed. "Tell you what, first thing tomorrow we start brainstorming. I think it will be an excellent family project, Dad sounded pretty pissed off about the whole situation himself. Now why don't you go find something to watch on the boob tube while I fix myself some supper. I'm starving."

"Dean, you are always starving." Sam rolled his eyes at his brother and then hopped over the back of the couch that divided the small dining area from the rest of the room. He flipped on the television and stopped at one of his favorite movies.

Dean threw together a sandwich with two leftover hotdogs sliced lengthwise, slapped the last piece of cheese on top, squirted on a couple ketchup and mustard packets leftover from a fast food run and grabbed a soda. It was his turn to roll his eyes when he saw the movie his little brother had picked.

"Really Sam, The Princess Bride? Are you sure you aren't turning into a girl?"

Sam punched his older brother on the shoulder. "You know you like this movie as much as I do. You know all of the dialogue."

Dean gave his brother a sidelong glance and chomped on his sandwich. The boys watched the end of the movie in comfortable silence. Westley had just defeated Prince Humperdinck when Sam heard the Impala pull up outside.

"Sounds like Dad's home."

Dean finished off the last of his soda and made his way to the door. He was anxious to hear what his dad had to say about Fran's Uncle Gerard. Luckily Dean hadn't made it all the way to the door, if he had he would have been knocked flat on his ass when the door flew open and John Winchester ran inside.

"Boys! We are bugging out. Ten minutes and we need to be out of here! Sam – grab the first aid kit. Grab some extra towels and a blanket. Dean – start with my room. Pack up everything. There are no extra points for neatness boys, we need to haul ass!"

Sam and Dean were both too stunned to move. "Dad?" Dean asked, "What is going on?"

"Boys I don't have time to explain. Fran's uncle was possessed by a demon. He is dead. The apartment is on fire. We need to get out of here before anyone realizes you left that stupid party with Fran."

"Fran?" Dean asked quietly, afraid of what he was going to hear.

"She is in the car, hurt bad. We gotta get her out of here. Boys I need you to move – NOW!" John himself was flying around the apartment, packing up their few meager belongings. Sam, who lately only whined and complained when they had to move, was a blur. He followed his dad's instructions and grabbed the first aid kit and the dingy towels that came with the apartment along with the ratty afghan that had been draped on the couch. Dean ran to his dad's room and packed his duffle. Next he made his way to the room he shared with Sam and started shoving stuff in their duffle bags. Finally he cruised through the bathroom and tossed everything into their laundry basket.

The apartment was packed up in record time. The Winchester men met at the trunk of the car after each making one final, and very fast, walk through to double check the rooms, drawers and countertops. John grabbed Sam's old wrist splint, an ace bandage and took one of their 'borrowed' blankets. He then headed to the passenger door of the car.

"Dad, does Fran need to go to the hospital?" Sam had only met her briefly but felt a strong connection to the lonely girl who had lost her family.

"We can't risk it. Her injuries would arouse too many questions." John opened the passenger door and deftly caught the battered body of the unconscious young girl that had been leaning there. Dean and Sam gasped in unison. Fran was a bloody mess. The cut on her head had bled profusely, the scratch across her shoulder had also soaked the front of her blouse in blood.

"Dad, is she going to be okay?" Dean helped John wrap the blanket around his new friend and caught a glimpse of her back, she looked like she had been mauled by a mountain lion. "What happened to her?"

"I'll fill you in later. I know she has a broken wrist, most likely a concussion and some really nasty scratches. We need to put some distance between us and this town. If we are lucky the authorities will think she died in the fire." With a practiced hand John gently placed the split and used the ace bandage to wrap Fran's broken wrist.

While Dean helped their father with the first aid, Sam ran back into the apartment and grabbed some cleaner and the roll of paper towels. He wiped down the front seat and door of the car, cleaning up the blood. Sam couldn't believe what an odd turn the day had taken. This morning he had been planning on getting his brother to take him and his friends to the movies and then studying for the Knowledge Bowl competition next week. Sam was happier here than he had been anywhere in more than a year. Now he was helping his family care for a girl who had a demon after her. His brother had been ridiculed in front of the town elite. Sam couldn't be more anxious to put miles between himself and this awful town and the people in it. There wouldn't be any arguing with his dad about leaving this place, no sir!

Dean climbed in the back seat and helped his father maneuver their new found companion onto the bench seat as tenderly as possible. Fran's head was cradled on Dean's lap and he had the first aid kit ready to care for and clean the cut on her head. John allowed himself a brief moment to look at his eldest son, and really see the fine man he was turning into. Dean didn't need to be told what to do, he took charge and did it, with confidence and skill. John couldn't help but feel a thump of pride in his heart, knowing Dean would watch over the injured girl like she was his own family. He turned to his youngest son, bracing himself for the onslaught of anger that always followed their abrupt departures. Instead, he realized that Sammy had cleaned up what little mess there had been on the front seat and tossed the blood soaked towels and jacket into a plastic bag to be disposed of at some other location. He handed his father the pocket contents from the ruined jacket and then positioned himself under Fran's feet in the back seat. Another thump of pride gripped John's heart and he affectionately squeezed Sam's shoulder.

"I'm sorry things turned out this way buddy."

"It's okay Dad. This isn't the place that I thought it was. I'm just sorry we have to take off before we can teach those kids at that party a lesson." Sam reached out to close the back door. John stopped him and gripped his son's smaller hand in his own.

"Thanks kid. I'm sorry about that too." After a quick squeeze he closed the door and made his way to the driver's seat, muttering to himself as he did, "What the hell are we going to do now?"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

John had been driving for several hours in silence. Both boys had drifted off and Fran had yet to regain consciousness. Every so often she would mumble and whimper in pain, each time being soothed with quiet comforting words from Dean.

John was thankful for the dark and quiet, it helped him think through the events of the last twelve hours. He had gone from thinking he was going to spend an evening researching his next hunt, to having a battle of wills with his youngest son and then learning his oldest son had inadvertently met a girl being hunted by demons. He himself had trapped a demon in a type of snare he didn't know existed, and now he was traveling across the Wisconsin wilderness in the dead of night.

When they left Finewood all he knew was that he needed to put distance between them and the authorities, there were going to be too many questions and he couldn't leave a young girl like Fran alone to face them alone. He knew the girl needed proper medical attention for her injuries but he couldn't risk taking her anywhere local. The authorities would know who she was and that her uncle had just died in a mysterious explosion. In her current state of pain and confusion any comments she made about being attacked by a demon would surely guarantee her a permanent spot in the nut house, especially considering how she had no family left. John had seen this type of situation before, the authorities had an unexplained dead man on their hands, they needed someone to pin it on. A seemingly unstable teenage girl with unexplained injuries, would fit the bill perfectly.

So John drove and planned. Where should they go? Fran's back was a mess and her wrist was definitely broken. He really shouldn't wait much longer before giving her some proper medical attention. What about the boys? Another school switch after only a couple months. He had made a promise to keep Sam in the same school for an entire school year. That was a promise that he really didn't want to break. John knew how important the deal had been to Sam and Dean. Even more important than he had originally thought as evidenced by the side arrangement the boys had made to help each other out.

The tired hunter let his mind continue to wonder. He kept hearing the words the demon had told him over and over. That his beloved Mary had made a deal to save John's life, a deal that meant her death. Could it be true? He knew demons lied, but the things the demon said didn't follow any pattern of demon lies he had heard before. How would Mary know anything about demons, let alone how to make a deal with one? Why would his life have needed saving? He had to admit to himself that the events from that night were sort of fuzzy, something he had been only too eager to overlook at the time. The authorities had labeled the death of Mary's parents a murder suicide. Mary's mother's neck had been snapped, her father appeared to have stabbed himself. Everyone had seemed more than happy to put the whole awful event behind them. What did he really know about the Campbell family?

John snapped out of his reverie when he spotted a road sign saying he was entering Superior, WI. That meant he was just across the bridge from Duluth and about twenty miles from Two Harbors. Subconsciously he had known all along where he was heading. There was a small resort on Lake Superior, just north of Two Harbors. He had helped the owners out with a particularly nasty spirit who wasn't too fond of their plans to renovate the old dilapidated campground into a new high-end resort. The couple had told him at the time if he ever needed anything to let them know. Now was definitely as good a time as any to call in that marker.

Dean must have sensed that his dad was getting to the end of their current driving destination. That, and the fact that he had no feeling left in his right leg, where Fran's head was resting and cutting off all circulation. He rolled his head and cracked his neck. He rubbed his hands over his tired eyes. Dean tried to shift without disturbing the sleeping girl. They were in a larger city, that much he could tell from looking out the window. The dim streetlights and pre-dawn light offered enough illumination for him to get a look at Fran's face. The small bruise that had made him so angry when they were locked in the closet was now replaced with an angry looking hand shaped bruise across her cheek and jaw. Her lip was bruised and swollen. Sam had held the flashlight while he treated the cut on her forehead when they left Finewood, but he didn't really have any supplies to clean up the blood. The poor girl's face looked like something out of a horror movie; blood smeared, bruised and swollen. Dean gently rubbed the back of her head, there was an awesome lump there. Dean debated whether or not he should say something to his dad. With a bump that size they really shouldn't let her sleep much longer, he was concerned about a concussion. His dad spoke up before Dean could decide if he should say anything.

"You awake Deano?"

"Yeah, are we stopping soon?"

"Yep, there is a place I know of about half hour from here. I'm hoping we will be able to crash there and decide what to do."

"That would be great." Dean realized that nature was calling him, actually nature was screaming at him, and he really needed to answer that call before his bladder burst. Considering there was a girl sleeping with her head on his lap the ramifications would be severe if he ignored his bladder much longer.

"How is Sammy doin'?" John asked from the front seat.

Dean looked over at his brother whose body was contorted into an amazing position. His head was tipped back on the seat with his mouth wide open. Dean could hear the deep, even breathes of someone sound asleep. Sam was hunkered down in the seat, his legs bowed open. Fran was laying on her side between himself and his brother, her feet on Sammy's lap. He realized Sam's hand had slipped in sleep, he guessed it had started out innocently on Fran's hip. However, his little brother's hand now disappeared between the sleeping girls legs. If they had been awake and aware of their actions, it would have been an extremely raunchy pose. However, they both were the innocent victims of unconsciousness in the cramped backseat of the Impala. Dean chuckled. Sam would be absolutely mortified if he could see a picture of himself at the moment. He guessed Fran wouldn't be none-to-happy about it herself. Dean decided the best course of action would be to keep his mouth shut about this little entanglement. He fidgeted again and sat up a little straighter.

"He is sound asleep. Hey Dad?"

"Hmmm?"

"What are we going to do with Fran? Her back looks like it has stopped bleeding for now, but she has a pretty big bump on the back of her head."

"We'll check things out when we stop. If she needs more attention than we can give her….well, we will just have to figure it out then." John wasn't happy about not getting this girl immediate medical attention. He didn't like the example it was setting for his sons. Dean and Sammy both had injuries in the past that probably should have been treated in a hospital. However, the boys had always been part of the decision making process. He wouldn't deny either of his boys life saving medical treatment. Fran hadn't been part of any decision he made. John had grabbed the girl and got her the hell out of there. He sure hoped he had made the right decision and that her injuries weren't more serious than he thought they were.

The sun was starting to rise as they approached Carver Cottages on the shores of Lake Superior. John turned off the scenic highway and tried to remember exactly when he was last here, it had to be at least six years. The change was astounding. The rundown old lakeside shacks and campground had been replaced with luxurious looking cottages. The landscaping was still fabulous, even though it was nearly November. Maybe this wasn't a great idea, John thought to himself. They never stayed in such high-end places. He pulled into the cottage nearest the road, what he remembered to be the cabin the owners stayed at when they were beginning renovations and their problems began. Now it was the main lodge where the front desk, souvenir shop and small but exclusive looking diner were located.

Dean skeptically looked at the resort type lodgings.

"Dad, are you kidding?"

"Well….." John was thinking they most likely would be heading back to a small roadside motel somewhere, "I'll just see if the couple who used to run the place are still here, then we'll head out." John quickly exited the vehicle and checked to be sure he was presentable. He decided he would just run in and pretend to be looking for a brochure.

He entered the small lobby area and approached the desk. He immediately recognized the middle aged man behind the counter as Julian Carver.

"John Winchester!" Julian came around the desk and vigorously shook John's hand. "What a wonderful surprise! Wait until I tell Margery! What brings you to back? Tell me, are you working?"

John had been incredibly weary and stressed, but Julian Carver's enthusiastic greeting warmed him considerably.

"You could say that. Listen Julian, I need a place to recoup with my family for a day or two and thought about taking you up on your offer from a few years ago. I didn't realize that you were going to be so successful in creating such a wonderful resort. The place looks absolutely amazing. You are probably booking out your reservations months in advance so I understand if you don't have anything available. Just say hello to Margery for me and I'll be heading out."

"What? I wouldn't hear of it! You might not have noticed John, but prime season is over. When the leaves fall the tourists season is pretty much non-existent until spring. Here," he reached behind his desk and expertly punched on his computer while talking, after a couple minutes he handed John two key cards "take the key to Cottage 12, it is the most secluded unit we have. Comfortably sleeps six. No reservations for that unit until the day before Thanksgiving. Am I correct in assuming you would like as much privacy as possible?"

John hesitated before taking the room keys, if there was one thing he hated it was charity. He preferred to think of this more as payment for past services to ease his bruised ego.

"Julian, I don't know what to say. Yes, I would prefer no one be told I'm here. My boys are with me along with a….family friend who has had a bit of trouble. I would be happy to pay for a day's stay."

"John, if it wasn't for you Margery and I would never have managed to put this place together. We were on the verge of giving up when you helped us with our unforeseen obstacles. Why, if it wasn't for your help we could have been killed! I can't tell you the number of times we have talked about how much we owe you…. about how awful we felt that we couldn't afford to pay you anything, even though you insisted we didn't have to. No, you head on over to Cottage 12 and stay as long as you need to. Consider it as a huge favor to me, what with easing our guilty conscience and all. Just stop by later today to say hello to Margery, I know she will be as thrilled to see you as I am. Anything you need, and I mean anything, food, bed linens, towels….absolutely anthing! Just dial 0 on the cottage phone, ask for me and I would be more than happy to help you out. John, I know this sounds silly and all, but you can't imagine how many times I have prayed that you would come back so we could properly thank you for all you have done for us. Please, it is our pleasure to help you out. It was mean to be, John. The weather is supposed to turn this morning, a nasty winter storm is blowing in. You got here just in time."

John was so touched by the generosity extended to him that he didn't trust himself to say anything at the moment. The fatigue and the stress of the last several hours were wreaking havoc on his emotions. He just nodded and gave a brusque 'will do' with his firm handshake. He quickly turned and headed back to the car.

Meanwhile, Dean was getting slightly impatient waiting for his father. Sammy started to wake and stretch. Fran also was beginning to regain consciousness, making groaning noises and shifting uncomfortably. Dean was just about to try to extricate himself from being Fran's pillow so he could visit the men's room before they headed out, because no way would they be staying someplace as posh as this place, when his father exited the building looking a little upset.

"Something wrong Dad?" Dean asked as John slid behind the wheel and eased the car into reverse.

"Dad?" Dean asked again.

By now Sammy was concerned as well, he was leaning forward in the seat trying to figure out where they were and why his dad seemed upset.

"Everything is good." John's voice was still gruff from emotion. "I just forgot that sometimes there are still some really good people in the world." Sam and Dean exchanged a confused look as John drove down the lane and pulled the car up to Cottage 12.

wwwwwwwwww

Margery Carver came out of the office area and quietly walked up behind her husband. "Was that really John Winchester?"

Julian smiled. "The one and only."

"Julian, do you think he has the girl with him? After all, he is a hunter. The location would be right. Could we be that lucky?"

Julian wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulder, together they watched and waited.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Sam couldn't quite believe his eyes. This place was amazing and way out of their league. Usually his dad found the most decrepit and questionable accommodations available. This seemed to be a luxury resort of some sort. His dad had just pulled into a parking spot in front of a small, two story condo. There had to be some mistake. He knew he had fallen asleep for a while, but not long enough for his dad to find a luxury resort on the ocean. No, it was still cold….this had to be a large lake. The largest lake they were close to was Lake Superior. Sam decided they were somewhere on that lake.

Sam couldn't help himself any longer and finally had to ask.

"Dad?"

"What?" John threw the car in park and cut the engine. He was just about to get out when his youngest started in with the questions.

"Where are we?"

"North of Two Harbors, Minnesota."

"Okay. But what about this place?"

"Carver Cottages on Lake Superior."

"Yeah but…..what kind of place is this?"

"I did some work for the people who own this place. I thought it would be a good place to rest up for a couple days."

"Yeah…but….we don't usually stay places like this. I was just a little, I don't know, confused I suppose."

"Sam, enough with the yeah buts. This was a dumpy campground the last time I was here. I had no idea the people who owned this place turned it into such a nice lakeside resort. Don't push your luck, kiddo. We are staying at a nice place for a change. Enjoy." John smiled to himself as the Impala door squeaked open and he got out of the car. The condo in front of him was sided in a light beige. He could only imagine that the view of the lake inside was spectacular. He hoped the kids were able to enjoy it. Accommodations like this were definitely few and far between.

Fran felt like she was trapped inside a gauze cloud. She could hear people talking and tried her best to concentrate on what was being said. She heard words like 'Lake Superior…rest up…..confused…." Yeah, confused. Now that was a word she could relate to. She wondered where her parents were, neither of the voices sounded like her mom or dad.

The more she became aware of her surroundings, the more she wished she wasn't. Every inch of her body screamed in pain. Her head throbbed. Her back was on fire. Her wrist was white hot agony. She had flashes of seeing her uncle with black eyes, hearing Artie Anderson laugh at her after she was thrown into a closet, Dean being nice to her and taking her home to talk to his dad. Everything was a jumble of visions and sound in her head. Her stomach was rolling and her head was throbbing. She tried to push herself up but was reminded of the fracture in her wrist. She gasped and let out a pain filled whimper.

"Shhhhh," Fran felt a gentle touch pushing the hair off her forehead, "it's okay Fran. Can you open your eyes? We need to get you inside."

"Dean, are we going to have to carry her?" Another voice said. The fuzziness in her head was starting to clear. Dean, she was with Dean. The other voice was his little brother….Stan…no Sam, Dean had called him Sammy. She tried to open her eyes with limited success. One eye didn't want to work too well. That whole side of her face was throbbing.

"Let's just give her a minute, Sam. Why don't you help dad haul our stuff inside and scope the place out. Then you can come out and help me."

Good idea, Fran thought, I definitely need a minute to figure out what the hell is going on here. She heard the squeak of a car door and felt a blast of cold air fill the car. That certainly helped clear her head. She breathed in the fresh, cold air and tried again to open her eyes while taking deep breaths to help settle her stomach.

Sam carefully wiggled out from under Fran's feet and hopped out of the car. He met his dad at the trunk and they loaded up with as much as they could carry from the trunk. John used the key card, another sign they were staying at a high end place, pushed the door open and stepped inside. He couldn't help himself, he whistled at the amazing surroundings.

"What's wrong Dad?" Sammy asked, trying to get a peak around his father and the mountains of stuff he was carrying.

"Nothing's wrong Sam, get a load of this place!" John stepped aside so Sam could see the inside of the condo.

"Wow! We are really going to stay here for a couple days?" Sam staggered inside a few steps and dropped his bags. Off to his left was the master bedroom suite, complete with king sized bed.

"Holy cow! Dad that bed is bigger than the last motel room we stayed in!" Sam's mouth hung open as he took in the amazing surroundings. The entire two-story wall facing the lake seemed to be made of glass. The view was amazing. There was a see-through fireplace dividing the living room area from the dining area. Another bedroom was off the dining room on the other side of the cabin. The kitchen sported new chrome appliances and expensive looking cookware. Beyond the kitchen were steps leading to the loft which overlooked the living/dining room. Sam couldn't help himself, he darted up the stairway ahead of his dad.

John was too stunned himself to stop Sam from checking out the upper floor. Normally he would never dream of letting either of the boys take off in an unsecured room. However, this was hardly one of the seedy, rodent infested places they usually stayed. John closed his eyes and pulled his hand over his tired stubble covered face. He actually shook his head in an effort to reset his focus. The first order of business, he needed to get everyone inside and secure the room. Second, tend to the wounded girl. Third, come up with some sort of idea what to do with the wounded girl. He looked up to see Sammy leaning over the loft rail.

"Dad! This place is awesome! There is another giant bed up here and the bathroom….it is HUGE! The shower is big enough for ten people and it's all glass. Why would you need a shower that big?"

John laughed. "Some day you'll figure that one out Sammy. I'm going to go help Dean, you pick the room you want to share with your brother and haul your stuff in here."

"Really? I get to pick? Cool!" Sammy moved so fast John could hardly believe his eyes. If only the kid had that kind of excitement for training. Sam all but flew down the stairway and ran into each room, comparing what they had to offer.

John left his youngest to his decision and headed back out to the car, only to find Dean already standing in the doorway of the condo, trying to support a barely conscious Fran without causing her further injury.

"Hey, did you guys forget about us?"

John hurried to help support the young girl. "Sorry kid, this place kind of took our breath away, didn't it Sam?"

"Dean! You aren't gonna believe this place! One bedroom has its own fireplace and a giant whirlpool tub! Upstairs is the biggest bed I …have…ever…seen!"

Dean helped his father carefully deposit Fran onto a stool by the kitchen island. Fran leaned heavily onto the island and groaned.

"Right now I'm only interested in the bathrooms. Point me in the right direction Sam." Dean's bladder had been pushed beyond his limits.

"Follow me – we are sleeping in the loft." Sam placed so much emphasis on the word 'loft' it made Dean laugh as he followed his brother up the stairs.

John sat on the stool next to Fran and tried to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. She flinched at the touch and looked back at him with tear filled eyes. The hardened hunter's heart softened a little at the tear-filled look of pain and fear she was giving him.

"It will be okay Fran. You will be safe here." He tried to use his most comforting growl.

"Where is here?" Fran asked between hitching breathes.

"We are staying at a resort on Lake Superior. Let's get you comfortable so I can take a proper look at your injuries." John attempted to help the young girl to stand but she pulled away from him.

"Why didn't you take me to a doctor? Why are you keeping me here?" John could see that Fran was going into shock, giving in to the panic and fear she must be feeling.

"Fran, do you remember what happened?" He could see the girl trying to make sense of the last 12 hours, the play of emotions crossing her features was astonishing. John tried again.

"Fran, you are safe with us. You aren't dreaming. Your uncle was possessed by a demon. He tried to kill you. I didn't take you to a hospital because it was too dangerous. Your uncle is dead. What do you think would have happened to you if you told anyone at the hospital what happened. Did anyone believe you when your family was killed? It would have been worse this time. They would have locked you up and thrown away the key."

Fran was desperately trying to make sense of things. No one had believed her after her family had been murdered. Part of her knew Mr. Winchester was telling the truth but it was just so hard to believe. She had been attacked by a demon, a demon who was trying to kill her because it was part of a deal her dad's business rival had made. She was holding on to the counter in front of her, to keep the world from spinning and to keep her life from spinning out of control.

Dean and Sam quietly made their way downstairs, having overheard part of the conversation from the loft. Dean slowly approached his new friend, thinking he couldn't recall the last time he had seen someone look so scared and alone.

"Frannie, you are safe with us."

Fran looked at the family in front of her. Family…..God, but she missed her family. "What…what is going to happen to me?" She finally squeaked out, her voice hitching as tears descended.

Dean, Sam and John all surrounded the girl, unsure of how to comfort her as she sat before them with her head bowed and weeping softly.

John finally spoke. "That's what we are going to figure out….together. Right now we need to get your injuries taken care of." Without any warning John gently scooped up the girl and carried her into the master bedroom on the main floor. Trying not to aggravate her injuries he placed her on the king sized bed. "Sam, I need you to bring in the first aid kit. Dean, I want you and Sammy to head into town and get some groceries for the next couple days. You need to get some things for Fran too, some clothes, shoes, toothbrush….you know, whatever she might need. Grab a cheap backpack or duffle for her." John fished out his wallet and handed his son several large bills.

Dean stared at the cash in his hand. "Whoa, Dad! Where did you get this kind of coin?"

"Consider it Uncle Gerard's contribution to his niece's future. Spend it wisely."

Dean turned to leave but then stopped. His dad's words running through his mind. Stuff for Fran….whatever she might need. "Ummmm, Dad?"

"What is it Dean?" John was trying to figure out how best to deal with the girl's injuries.

"How do I know what to get…you know…..girl stuff?" Dean's face was flushed with embarrassment.

John chuckled. "Dean, improvise. Keep it simple, we will worry about fashion later. Right now she needs to be warm and comfortable. Sweats, socks, toothbrush, hair brush, deodorant, some….um….feminine hygiene stuff just in case. Just pretend Sammy was a girl who had absolutely nothing, what would you get then?"

Dean was dreading this shopping trip. Just then Sam came in with the first aid kit. "What's going on?" The youngest Winchester could tell something was making his big brother uncomfortable.

"Nothing squirt, Dad was just telling me to pretend you were a girl. I told him no problem, you already act like one. Ouch!" Sam pinched Dean in the arm, hard. "Proves my point, he pinched me…just like a girl."

"Dean, there is a washer and dryer in that front hall closet, be sure to get some laundry detergent. We'll probably be here for five days-tops. Now get going." John was anxious to get the boys out of the condo.

"Come on Dean, let's get going." Sam grabbed his jacket, happy to have something to do.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean grabbed an extra hoodie to wear over his layers and headed to the door.

John yelled after his sons, "Be careful!"

Dean gave him the thumbs up and closed the door. John was officially alone with an injured, frightened, teen-aged girl. Heaven help them both.

wwwwwwww

A curtain fluttered back into place as the sleek black car drove by. Margery Carver spoke quietly into the phone. "Yes, I'm certain it is John Winchester."

"Is the girl with him?" Came the anxious voice on the other end of the line.

"His son helped someone into the cabin, it looked like a girl. I'm assuming it was her."

"We have to know for certain. Call us back when you know for sure." With that the line went dead.

Julian walked up behind his wife and wrapped his arms around her.

"Don't worry, darling. Winchester won't suspect a thing."

Margery turned and returned her husband's embrace.

"Can you believe our good fortune? When we turn over that girl we will be set for life."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Dean was maneuvering the Impala slowly through the beginnings of what was predicted to be a record breaking snowfall. When he and Sam had left the condo the weather was blustery and overcast. Now neither boy had any idea what the sky looked like, they couldn't see it through the mass of giant snowflakes falling.

The town of Two Harbors didn't have a lot to offer. There was no large 24-hour chain store to shop at. The only store that looked like it carried clothing didn't open until 10:00 a.m., so they stopped at the local grocery first to pick up food and some basics for Fran. Sam and Dean had long ago perfected their shopping technique to avoid suspicion in the grocery store. The plan was simple, Dean was always careful to go to the oldest woman working the checkouts. Sam would be picking up all sorts of candy bars and impulse stuff in the checkout lane. Dean would pretend to "find" Sam and tell him to head on out to the car, that their fictional mother had been looking for him. Sam would play the part of a bratty little brother and stomp out of the store. Never failed, the checkout clerk always gave Dean a sympathetic smile and never hassled him about using the credit card with "mom's" name on it. Today had been no different, plus they had the added "girl" items in the cart, flowery deodorant, shampoo, detergent and other unmentionables that Dean blindly grabbed when he walked down the aisle of female products, not even being sure what he had just bought.

While Dean purchased groceries, Sam picked up the local ads and read the bulletin board in the entryway. After they loaded up Sam pointed out a rummage sale at First Lutheran listed in the ads.

Dean couldn't help but tease his little brother. "You have a thing for church ladies or something? No wait, maybe bargain shopping gives you a boner?"

"Ha. Ha. Jerk." Sam folded his arms and slumped back in the seat. "I thought we might get a good deal on some stuff for Fran. The stuff at church sales is always the nicest." Sam glared out the window, he really hated the fact that he had to shop at second hand shops and rummage sales. He had learned at an early age to keep his mouth shut about getting a good deal at a garage sale or finding something new at the Goodwill.

Dean felt bad for bickering with his little brother, but he really could not help himself. Sam had seemed so moody lately. One day he would be his loveable little brother, the next he was all angst and anger. At least that had been one good thing about Finewood. Sam had loved blending in and pretending they were leading some sort of ordinary family life. Dean hated every second of it, but knowing that Sam was happy at least made it tolerable. None of that mattered now though, he doubted they would be seeing Finewood again anytime soon. Dean wondered how long it would take Sam to forget their leaving was to save a life, how long it would take before he would throw it in their dad's face that they left Finewood after being promised they would be stay for the entire school year. Sometimes his freakishly smart little brother had a very lopsided and selfish memory.

Thinking the rummage sale was actually a good idea he decided to try and make up.

"Sorry Sammy…." He started.

"It's Sam, dickwad."

"Okay. Sorry Sam Dickwad." Dean snuck a peak at his brother out of the corner of his eye, the kid was still pouting. He tried to remember if he was that moody when he was twelve. "The rummage sale is a good idea. Which way to First Lutheran?"

Sam was still sullen. Sometimes his brother was such a pain. "We passed it on the way in," he grumbled.

Dean turned back the way they came and within a couple minutes they were in a nearly full church parking lot. They both made their way into the church basement and found rows upon rows of tables packed with clothing, household goods and miscellaneous stuff. The last row of tables was full of homemade baked goods. Dean nearly tripped heading over to that table. "Sammy, I'll never doubt you again. Look at this stuff! Brownies, cookies…oh my God, pie! Kid, you are my hero!" Dean wandered up and down the tables, nearly drooling over all the wonderful treats. Dean was ooohing and ahhhing over everything. Sam watched as Dean flirted and made middle aged church women blush and giggle. How could he stay mad at his jerky brother? Before long Dean had picked out a blueberry pie (Sam's favorite) and a plateful of amazing looking cookies and brownies.

While Sam watched, Dean worked his magic. Within minutes they had a bag full of amazing baked goods (Sam watched as several freebies were added) and were escorted to the young women's table by not one, but three, motherly ladies who were near tears listening to Dean's tale of their darling half sister, Penny, who had been in a terrible car accident a few days ago over in Wisconsin, broke her arm and lost her mother, and was in need of some comfortable clothes to recover in while she was staying with them and her father.

Half hour later they left the First Lutheran Church basement loaded with sweat pants, sweat shirts, t-shirts, a flannel nightgown, large backpack and a winter jacket for Fran; plus winter jackets for Dean and their Dad. Sam had not been neglected by the mother hens either, Dean had made sure of that. He had two new pair of jeans, never worn, several cool t-shirts and a pair of brand new name brand tennis shoes. Wherever their next school was he was going to be wearing clothes that fit him and made him look like everyone else. Sam was thrilled and they hadn't even spent thirty bucks.

They loaded their purchases in the trunk while munching on free cookies. Wet and sloppy snowflakes fell around them. The talk in the church basement had mainly been about the storm that was coming.

"So Sam, how do you think we did?" Dean asked, he really hoped his brother was out of his funk from earlier.

"Amazing! The stuff is all like new!" Dean chuckled with relief at his little brother's giddiness. He knew Sam wanted nothing more than to fit in and be like everyone else, that he hated wearing second-hand, but this stuff was all like new.

"No kidding," he said, "I don't think most of the stuff you got has ever been used. This was a great idea Sammy, you know I was just messing with you before." He affectionately swatted snowflakes from his kid brother's shoulder.

Sam felt foolish for his childish behavior earlier, he just didn't seem able to keep himself from acting like a bitchy little girl sometimes. "Yeah, I know. Sorry I was acting like a little bitch."

Dean gave him a playful push and headed to the driver's door. "Sammy, you will always be my little bitch." He tried to bat his eyes at his brother but the wet and soggy snowflakes smacking him in the face made it impossible. "We better hit the department store and head back, this stuff is coming down pretty fast and furious."

They made short work of their last stop, getting the final few items that weren't available at the rummage sale. Sam's stomach growled loudly and Dean's joined in. Unfortunately there weren't any fast food restaurants on the way out of town so the boys just decided to head back and make something to eat when they got there, with pie for dessert of course.

Sam was squirming on the front bench seat next to his brother. The snow was falling at an alarming rate. "Are the roads slippery?"

Dean was concentrating on finding the correct turnoff to Carver Cottages. His grip on the wheel firm but not panicked. "Nah, they aren't too bad yet. Just help me spot the turn okay?"

"Sure thing." Sam scooted over to his window and scanned the sparse signs along the road, thankful to feel like he was contributing to the drive.

As much as Dean loved the Impala it was crap to drive in bad weather. He had to be constantly aware of the feel of the car to avoid fishtailing and swerving into the ditch.

"I think that's it!" Sam finally saw the roadside billboard announcing Carver Cottages, Luxury Accommodations and Dining on Lake Superior.

"Good work, Sammy." Dean carefully maneuvered the car down the service road and to the front of their temporary home. After shutting off the engine he sat for a couple seconds, thankful that they had left when they did. If this snow kept up he didn't think they would be going anywhere in another couple hours.

"So….." Sam started.

"Yeah, so…." Dean said.

"How do you think Dad is doing with Fran?"

Dean took another deep breath, leery about what they were going to find inside. "Suppose we best get in there and check it out."

The boys loaded up their purchases and headed inside.

John felt a wave of relief wash over him when he heard the rumble of the Impala out front. He polished off the two fingers of good scotch he had left from his emergency stash and quickly rinsed the glass in the sink. He didn't want the boys to know he had been drinking, they would know for sure something was up. It wasn't the last two hours spent caring for and nursing the injuries of an embarrassed and wounded young woman that had him rattled, strong coffee would have sufficed for that. No, it was the twenty minute phone call he had just had with his old pal Bobby Singer.

Fran had come through like a trooper while John helped her bathe, rinsing her wounds in holy water, disinfecting, bandaging and in some cases stitching. The only time she cried out was when he needed to set her fractured wrist, having only immobilized it the night before. Hell, he had patched up grown men with injuries only half as bad who had made ten times the racket. John thought Fran came through like a champ, and that was saying a lot.

Once Fran was comfortably resting in her room John decided to give Bobby a call and see if he had any advice on where to take her. Bobby had listened patiently to John explain their adventures of last 24 hours. He thought maybe the line went dead because there was no reply from his friend, no grunts or insults that Bobby usually offered when giving advice to the younger hunter, no comments about the boys that he was so fond of.

He ended his explanation with "So, you know, I was just wondering if you had any ideas on where we might be able to take her. Pastor Jim is out of the country for a few weeks on some sort of religious pilgrimage or I would have headed there."

Silence.

"It figures." Was all Bobby finally said.

"What do you mean, 'it figures'?"

"It figures that any time I get wind of bad news you are always in the middle of it."

At that point John was confused. "What the hell are you talking about Singer? What bad news?"

John heard the frustration in Bobby's voice and could almost see him pushing the greasy trucker hat back on his head and scraping his hand down over his unruly beard. "Bobby?"

"John, this is bad. You gotta get yourself and that girl down here as fast as you can. We need to work a cleansing ritual on her before some pretty nasty characters track you down."

"Who? Bobby, I don't understand. Why would anyone be tracking us down? The demon I trapped said she was safe."

"No, you told me the demon said no other _demon_ would come after her. There are plenty of other evil sons of bitches who want to get their hands on that prize. "

John was losing his patience. "Singer, I swear to God if you don't tell me what the fuck is going on I'm going to find a way to reach through this phone line and beat it out of you."

"Fine. Listen up ya idjit. What you have on your hands is the most valuable and rarest ingredient in nearly every heavy duty satanic ritual. This girl, how old did you say she was? Sixteen, right? Well guess what, she is a virgin. The heart of an innocent isn't all that unique. But take the heart of an innocent, who has been touched by evil, not once but twice, yet still remains innocent? That jacks up its potency about ten thousand percent." Bobby's voice was rising in frustration. "Get it? That girl ya got there was marked for death by a demon and lived, that made her pretty special, but not unheard of. But then she escaped a second time. That made her the grand champion of virgin prizes!"

"John, I got a call this morning from a psychic I know out in Colorado. She was getting messages from all sorts of contacts from beyond, worried that many different strong evil beings were seeking a young virgin who had just escaped a demon execution for the second time. She told me that the girl was injured, traveling with a man and that she was somewhere in the upper mid-west, most likely in the Wisconsin area. She called wanting me to alert hunters in the area to be on the lookout for an increase in satanic activity. Do you get how serious this is now?"

John had felt like he had been sucker punched. Evil creatures were tracking them? His boys were out on their own at this very moment, unprotected? Damn! He was beat right down to his socks and really needed a drink. This is not the conversation he was hoping to have with his fellow hunter.

"Bobby, I don't get it. How can they be tracking us? I mean, I get how they might figure who Fran is and where we started from. But how could they have any idea where we are now? No one saw us."

"I'm not sure how it works John, all I know is she has been marked by demons. Somehow evil spirits are able to zero in on her location. Until we perform a cleansing ritual that girl, and anyone with her, is in extreme danger. Get your asses here NOW!"

"Dammit Bobby!" John slammed is fist on the table in frustration. "It has started snowing here hard enough that I can't see twenty feet from the window. The boys aren't back from an errand I sent them on. I was worried about them out in the weather and now I have this to worry about! There is no way in hell we can leave here right now! We'll be lucky if we get out of here tomorrow with this storm coming!" John glanced over to the door to Fran's room, worried that he may have awakened her with his angry ranting. Lowering his voice he asked, "Isn't there any way I can perform the cleansing ritual here?"

"That won't work, you have been there too long already, besides you need certain ingredients and its complicated spellwork, I'm pretty sure I have most of the ingredients. Once you start traveling the girl won't be easy to track. After the ritual is performed she will be just like any other 16 year old virgin, nothing special."

"Great. Any suggestions?" John was really hoping his friend could offer up a little good news, he was disappointed.

"Just the usual. Mark the protection sigils I showed you on all the doors and windows. Hell, mark them everywhere. Whatever you have or can think of can't hurt."

"There isn't any way of knowing what might be tracking us? Hell, it could be anything Bobby. How am I going to know how to protect us?"

"I'll see if my psychic friend has any ideas. My best guess though is that whatever is looking for you will be human, most likely some kind of witch or satanic asshole looking to up their profile. Listen John, wait out the storm but the second you think it is safe to travel get your butts on the road. Give me a heads up when you are on the way and I'll have everything ready for the ritual when you get here."

"Yeah, will do. Thanks Bobby. Wish I could say it was a pleasure talking to you."

wwwwwwww

Julian Carver stood in his hunter's camouflage and shared the good news with his wife. He had watched, hidden behind the trunk of a massive white pine, as John Winchester bathed a girl and tended her wounds. This must be the girl they were searching for, and she had been delivered right to them. Margery and Julian had much good news to share.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Dean knew immediately that something was up. The relief he had felt at making it back safely after their treacherous drive was replaced by an uncomfortable anxiety in the pit of his stomach. When he and Sammy got to the front door their dad was holding it open, waiting to usher them inside as quickly as possible. Dean could see his dad's whole persona had changed from earlier. John Winchester was in hunter mode. Dean couldn't put his finger on it, there was just something that switched on and off in the guy when he was working a job. He went from being their approachable dad to being their fierce commander.

Even though he didn't like it, Dean automatically went with the flow. He went from calling his father 'dad' to only calling him 'sir'. Sammy hadn't figured out how to spot the switch yet, this was usually when the dad/Sam meltdowns happened.

Sam squeezed past his father, arms loaded with bags, and began chattering away. Dean knew he was just letting off the tension from the drive, the faster he talked the more nervous, upset or excited he was, this was still an impressive amount of talking, even for Sam.

"Dad, wait until you see the awesome stuff we got! We found a church rummage sale and I found you a new jacket to replace the one that we had to ditch last night. This one is way better. It was only a dollar! Dean found one too! We got pretty much all the clothes Fran will need there. Dean gave them some story about our poor injured half sister and had all these old ladies practically giving stuff to us. Hey Dean, show dad the bakery stuff you got. Are you going to make something to eat now, because I'm starving? If you cook I'll put stuff away. Hey, where is Fran? Is she okay? Dad, did you get some sleep? You look really tired. You should get some rest because we aren't going anywhere else today. The roads were really slippery! Dean did an awesome job though. I bet the last five miles took us over a half hour to drive. The snow is really piling up."

"Sam, take a breath man!" Dean smiled at his little brother, he loved it when he chattered away from excitement. Unfortunately he could tell by the look on his dad's face that he wasn't enjoying the Sammy show. Dean also spied the tumbler in the sink and thought he picked up the faint odor of whiskey. This was not good. He immediately thought something happened to Fran, he didn't see her, the French doors to the master suite were closed. Their dad had yet to say anything.

"Is Fran okay?" Dean tentatively asked. Sammy seemed to catch on and stared at the closed bedroom doors, he nervously looked back at his brother.

John pulled himself up to full height and took a deep breath. Yep, Dean thought to himself, he is definitely going all 'commander in charge of his troops' on us.

"Fran is resting. She did better than I was expecting." Dean thought he saw a hint of pride in his father's eyes. "Dean, get this stuff put away and make some chow. Sam, I need you to help me lock this place down."

Sam finally picked up on the change in their father. "What's going on Dad?"

Dean immediately began emptying bags and putting things away. He said a silent prayer to whoever would be listening to keep his dad and Sam from having one of their patented Winchester battle of wills.

"Sam, there isn't time to explain right now, just do as I say." John grabbed up the boxes of salt that Dean had purchased.

"But Da-ad." Sam emphasized the 'dad' with a sing-song whine. Dean noticed their dad's face reddened and saw his neck muscles tense and twitch. Here it comes, he thought.

Only the strangest thing happened, there was no yelling. Just when Dean thought his dad was going to haul off and start screaming at Sam to follow orders he did just the opposite. John sat down at one of the kitchen stools and pulled Sam in front of him by his shoulders. Dean looked on in confusion, and Sam couldn't have had a more ridiculous look on his face if John had hauled off and decked him.

John took a deep breath. "Sam, remember last night when we agreed to listen to each other, to try and work things out instead of fighting all the time?" God, John thought to himself, was it only last night he had that conversation with Sammy? It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Sam could only nod his head and mutter "Yeah". He was still too stunned that his dad was actually talking to him instead of yelling.

John looked across the kitchen island to Dean, who was staring at his dad and brother like they were two aliens who just landed in front of him. John reached out for his oldest. "Come here Dean, we need to talk." Dean wasn't sure what was going on but he stepped in front of his father. John placed his right hand on Dean's shoulder and kept his left on Sam's.

"This is very important boys, and I don't have time right now to explain everything, that will have to wait until later. Fran will be fine, she is resting right now. I'm depending on both of you to help me take care of her. Do you think you can do that?"

In unison both boys gave a quick "Yes sir."

"Good. I spoke with Bobby Singer a little bit ago, I was thinking we would head to his place when the storm clears. Bobby has gotten wind of some bad people looking for Fran – wanting to use her in some sort of satanic rituals because of what has happened to her. I guess her close calls with a couple of demons means she has some sort of value to those bad people."

Sam interrupted, "But Dad, who would…."

John cut him off mid-sentence. "Sam, please let me finish."

Sam's mouth snapped shut and he mumbled a "yes sir".

"Bobby thinks somehow these people are able to track Fran, zero in on her location. We can't leave now because of the storm." At these words they all automatically looked toward the giant windows and saw only a wall of blowing whiteness beyond. "We need to hunker down here, do everything we can to protect ourselves until this storm passes. That means locking down everything. We need to try and protect every inch of this place as best we can. If we can't travel in this stuff that hopefully means whoever is looking for Fran can't travel either."

John gently squeezed Sammy's shoulder. "Sam, I need you to help me lock this place down because you have a knack for drawing those freaky sigils Bobby showed us. Can you do help me with this, follow my orders and save your questions or arguments until we are finished?"

Sam proudly gave him a loud "Yes sir!"

John smiled. "Good, go get my protection kit from my duffle and we can get started." Sam took off for John's room.

"Dean, I need you to stay on guard and watch over Fran. I can't shake the feeling we are being watched. Anything looks suspicious you call me. In the meantime, see if you can get some lunch started."

Dean gave a less than enthusiastic, "Yes sir". John could see the disappointment in his son's eyes. He knew Dean saw this assignment as 'busy work' and that he thought he was getting stuck with the women's work while John and Sam were protecting the rooms.

John now placed both hands on his eldest son's shoulders. "Dean, this is very important. For as long as we are here we all need to be on constant guard. I am counting on you to take charge over your friend. I'll keep watch over Sam. Keep your eyes open, your ears peeled and a weapon on you at all times. I'm counting on your instincts and skill. Got it?"

This time Dean was a little more enthusiastic in his response. "Got it. Yes Sir."

John and Sam spent the next hour covering every inch of the condo with protection sigils and salt lines. Dean hastily finished putting groceries away and put together a quick lunch of hotdogs with mac and cheese, not the instant kind either. Once everything was taken care of and his mac and cheese was baking in the oven he decided he should check in on Fran, probably keeping the French doors open so he could be sure she was alright.

Dean knocked softly before opening the door to Fran's room. The curtains were partly drawn and the room was chilly and dim. Fran was lying on her stomach on the giant bed. Her bare back was exposed and Dean cautiously took in the damage. Dozens of neat, tiny stitches closed the deep scratches at her shoulder and on her back. The shallower scratches were clean and covered with gauze bandages. Fran's face was turned to the side and Dean couldn't help but grimace at what was visible of the swollen black eye and split lip. Her wrist immobilized in a sturdy splint, wrapped in a clean ace bandage and her arm was slightly elevated on a soft pillow. Dean thought she looked very small and alone in the giant king-sized bed. He sat on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep, thinking about the last 24 hours and how quickly things had changed in their lives….again. As hard as he tried he couldn't imagine losing his entire family. Sometimes he missed his mom so much that it physically hurt. He didn't think he would have recovered if he lost his dad and brother too. Dean didn't really even know this girl and he felt an overwhelming need to protect her and help make her life better. No one deserved what she had been put through.

After several minutes Dean carefully pulled the down comforter to cover Fran's bare back. He knew his father had left the wounds exposed to the air to aid healing, but the room was cold and Fran looked chilled. Dean felt a little embarrassed for his new friend, thinking of the time she spent alone with John Winchester. Just one more indignity she had to endure.

Sam walked into Fran's room with his wax pencil and canister of salt. He joined his older brother in watching the girl sleep soundly for a few moments before whispering, "Do you think she is going to be okay?"

Dean looked down into his brother's expressive hazel eyes. "I don't know, Sammy. She has been though a lot."

John walked up behind both his boys and gave Sam a nudge on the shoulder. With a nod of head toward the sliding glass doors leading to the patio, he managed to convey to Sam that he wanted him to salt the door and mark the glass. Another nod to his other son clearly meant 'get food'. Dean nodded his reply and headed to the kitchen to dish up plates. John salted the windows, checked the locks and marked each with a variety of protection symbols. After double checking Sammy's work he turned the heat up another few degrees. Leaving the door to Fran's room partially open he joined his sons at the kitchen island for some food.

As he sat down for lunch Sam's stomach gave a loud growl, the frozen pizza he had the night before and cookies in the church parking lot were distant memories. Dean placed a plate heaping with mac and cheese in front of him along with the sweet pickle relish and mustard for his hotdog, next to his plate he placed a giant glass of milk. Sam was just about to dig in when he looked toward Fran's room.

"What about Fran? She must be starving?" Sam asked his father.

John took his own plate of steaming food from his eldest son. Damn but Dean could cook better than Mary when he had the time and ingredients. This mac and cheese recipe the kid had found was his favorite.

"Right now she needs rest more than anything, Sam. I gave her some of the good drugs, she should be out for a while." John began shoveling food into his salivating mouth. His own stomach was grumbling nearly as loud as Sammy's.

Dean dished up his own plate and placed a plate full of cookies and brownies on the table for them to share for dessert, snatching one for himself as an appetizer. "Don't worry Sam, we will save some of the macaroni for her, and I made sure to buy some pudding and soup. As soon as she wakes up you can help me fix something for her." He knew his little brother couldn't bear to think of someone going hungry when he had a plate of food in front of him, just one of those freaky things that made Sammy special. Dean turned to his dad and asked, with a mouthful of chocolate brownie, "So Dad, what's the plan?"

"Julian, what are we going to do?" Margery was pacing the resort office, wringing her hands. "Master said to keep them here. How are we going to be sure they don't leave? It is going to be at least tomorrow afternoon before the others can get here for the ceremony. Master will be most displeased if he doesn't find his prize when he arrives."

Julian was sitting at his desk, working on a pile of invoices. "Margery…..darling", he spoke softly trying to calm his nervous wife.

"Look outside baby. There is no possible way they can leave for at least the next 24 hours." The couple looked toward the giant office windows facing the great lake. Heavy snow was falling at an alarming rate, already 5 inches on the ground, and the wind was blowing something fierce. "We will leave them be until tomorrow morning, then we will check in and see what John's plans are."

Margery wasn't easily placated. "What if she dies? What if Winchester wants to use her for his own purposes? I think we ought to secure the girl now, so we are ready when Master arrives."

"Margery, there is no way John would ever consider killing an innocent girl. I don't imagine he has any idea what that girl means, to him she was just a damsel in distress that he saved. If he can't keep her alive for two days….well, then neither could we, dear. No, this is the best course of action for the moment. Tomorrow we will drop in to see how they made it through the storm. Then we will decide if we need to intervene."


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: A huge, enormous, gigantic THANK YOU to everyone who has reviewed, alterted and favorite this story! You guys rock!

Chapter 14

It was late afternoon and dreary light filtered in as the storm raged on outside. Nearly 10 inches of snow had fallen already and the wind had definitely picked up, howling and blowing snow in every direction. Inside the condo, on the shores of Lake Superior, it was nice and warm.

Sam woke on the couch, stretched and yawned loudly. Dean smirked at him from the kitchen where he was putting ingredients together for supper. Sam thought it looked like he was making chicken and rice, one of his favorites. Sam allowed himself the luxury to sink further into the cushions and listened to the wind blowing on the other side of the windows. He relished the warm, semi-sleepy feeling.

Sam didn't realize he had dozed off again until he heard a loud thump on the coffee table in front of him and the couch bounced with Dean sitting down hard next to his snoozing brother. The thump he heard turned out to be a basket of clean laundry.

"So, sleeping beauty, are you going to sleep the rest of the day away or can we finish watching our movie?"

After lunch Dean and Sam had cleaned up the kitchen and decided to watch one of the many movies on video supplied with the condo. John thought he should take advantage of the opportunity to catch up on his sleep. Dean checked on Fran, who was still resting peacefully, and Sam picked the movie, True Lies, a movie they both had wanted to see in the theater but never had the chance. Unfortunately, Sam barely made it through the first 15 minutes of the movie before he drifted off, lulled into a peaceful sleep by a full stomach and a warm blanket on the most comfortable couch he had ever been on. He knew his father and brother were nearby to keep him safe, even after the news their father had delivered to them over lunch.

John had filled his sons in on Fran's predicament of currently being a magnet for evil because of her double dose of demon exposure. Unknown to both boys John had left out the details of the demon revelations while under the influence of Beelzebub's Snare. Both Sam and Dean had agreed with their father that as soon as they were able to travel they needed to head out to Bobby Singer's Salvage Yard to try the cleansing ritual on Fran. For the first time Sam had felt like he was a part of the decision, not just the kid being told what to do. He appreciated the fact that John was trying to keep to his agreement, to talk to them about things before solely making decisions that affected them all. He couldn't help but wonder how long that would last.

Since Dean did not get a response from Sam he proceeded to fold the clean laundry from the basket in silence.

Sam finally stretched again and sat up.

"You did laundry?" he finally asked.

Dean gave him one of his 'are you kidding?' looks and said "What was your first clue?"

Sam shot his brother a look and got up off the couch, indulging himself in another full body stretch.

"Just where do you think you are heading off to kiddo?" Dean asked.

"Dean…..bathroom. You know, the place where you spend way too much time with those magazines you don't think I know about?" Sam stepped around the coffee table and yawned again on his way to use the main floor guest bathroom.

"Wow!" Dean mockingly placed a hand over his heart and threw himself back on the couch. "Baby bro has found his wit on the shores of Lake Superior. Who would have thunk it?"

"Screw you, Maid Marion." Was Sam's reply.

"Up yours…..dude." Came Dean's clunky and lame response.

Sam couldn't help but smile when he made his way to take care of business.

The basket of laundry was nearly folded when Sam made his way back to the living room.

"So, are you ready to watch the movie now?" Dean asked.

"I suppose so." Sam answered, as he searched for a match to one of his socks. "But could we restart it from the beginning, I don't really remember much of what happened. What made you do laundry?"

Dean had three stacks of Winchester underwear and undershirts in front of him when he answered, "Well, you fell asleep before the movie was hardly started. It wasn't any fun watching it alone." He shrugged. "Besides, how often do we stay in a place that has a new, full sized washer and dryer? You don't even have to feed it quarters! We left in such a hurry last night all of our stuff was a mess. I thought I'd take advantage of the opportunity to get things sorted out."

Sam finished sorting the socks and looked at his brother with mock sincerity. "And you're cooking too. You are going to make someone a fine wife some day, Dean."

"Up yours!" Dean squawked as he chucked a pair of folded socks at his brother's head.

That was all it took, within a fraction of a second both brothers were flinging clean socks and underwear at each other in a laundry battle extraordinaire. Once the clean clothes were gone they substituted slaps and pinches, each trying to get the best of the other. After several minutes they were rolling around on the floor, squealing and laughing. Dean finally managed to pin his little brother to the floor and punished him with a relentless series of tickling which finally had Sam crying uncle with tears of glee streaming down his face.

Dean rolled off his brother and lay on the floor, terribly satisfied with himself and more at peace than he had been in months. He stared up at the ceiling while his little brother tried to catch his breath next to him.

Sam finally regained his composure. "Dean?"

"Yeah squirt?"

"Do you think Dad was telling us the whole truth about what happened?"

Here we go, Dean thought to himself. He didn't for a second think that their father had let them in on the whole story. He didn't think it mattered how old they were or what their relationship was. John Winchester was operating in commander mode and that meant the troops were on a need to know basis only. He opted for the easy answer, "Sounded like it to me, why?"

Sam sat up and started refolding laundry. "I don't know, it just felt like he was holding back."

Dean also began picking up laundry and refolding it. "Think about it Sam, the whole thing sounded pretty intense. Fran barely came out alive. What could he possibly be holding back?" Perhaps Sam had more insight than Dean was giving him credit for.

It took several minutes for Sam to respond, finally saying, "I guess you are right. Honestly, I'm surprised that he shared as much information as he did. Do you think something could be coming for Fran?"

The sounds of someone stirring in the next room distracted Dean from his little brother's comments. He peaked around the corner and noticed Fran was finally rousing. "Finish up here Sammy, I need to check on Fran." He made his way into Fran's room and sat carefully at her side on the bed, waiting for her to regain consciousness. Dean could see that Sam had shoved the laundry over so he could finish folding while sitting on the floor and casually see what was happening in Fran's room.

Fran floated on the edge of consciousness, the sound of muffled voices rattled around in her head. She couldn't decide if she was dreaming or if there really were people talking nearby. She tried to open her eyes but they weren't cooperating. Around the edges of her memory Fran thought there was something she should be remembering, something bad. On instinct she knew that something bad had happened but she easily let the black hole of nothingness overtake her again and she drifted back to sleep.

Again Fran drifted to the brink of consciousness. The nothingness had left her. She was beginning to feel an ache in her wrist and burning pain in her back and shoulder. She tried to move her head and felt as though her entire face was going to explode. Her mouth was parched and when she tried to swallow her throat was raw. Another uncomfortable feeling was fighting the other senses for attention, hunger. Her stomach was growling and churning. A pitiful groaning whimper met her ears. Did she make that noise? Where was she? Fran thought if she could only get her eyes open she might remember where she was and what had happened.

There was a sensation of cold seeping into her body. Fran tried to catalog what she was feeling, trying to figure out what was going on. She registered cold, pain and hunger. 'Why am I cold?'; 'Where am I?'; and 'Am I dreaming?' kept playing over and over in her aching head. Finally she decided it would be best if she moved, tried to get her eyes open and get up.

"Uhh-ahhh!" Well, that wasn't a good idea, she thought to herself as pain washed over her. She managed to get her good eye open and took in her blurry surroundings, she was lying on her stomach on a soft bed, surrounded by pillows, her left arm was in a brace and wrapped from fingertip to elbow in an ace bandage. Another groan escaped her as she tried to roll onto her side so she could get a better look at where she was.

Suddenly she realized there was someone in the room with her, again she tried to push herself up, and another anguished groan filled the room.

A soft voice shushed her saying, "Hey…hey, Frannie, don't do that," and warmth enveloped her as a soft blanket was tucked in around her shoulders. More and more of the cobwebs were falling away. That voice, she had heard that voice before.

It was only when she heard a different murmured whisper that the memories of the last 48 hours slammed into her with the force of a dump truck. "Is she waking up, Dean?" Sammy asked.

Dean…the party…his family…the demon….the torture…., everything came flooding back. Fran suddenly remembered with full clarity the details that delivered her to be resting in this bed; of being rescued from her demon possessed uncle by Dean's father, the drive to this place – wherever it was – and having her wrist set and wounds cleaned and stitched, again by Dean's father.

"D..De..an?" She managed to croak, she could feel her body trembling but couldn't decide if it was fear, cold or pain making her shake.

"Yeah, it's me." Dean's voice was as gentle as the touch on her shoulder. "Take a few deep breaths and just relax. You've been sleeping for a long time. Give yourself a chance to come around."

Fran took a few shuddering deep breaths. With each breath there were more memories and more shaking.

"Shh, take it easy Fran. You're safe here. Remember you are safe here with us."

Fran again struggled to get to a sitting position but a firm hand on her good shoulder stopped her.

"Hold on, you don't want to go throwing these blankets off because….well, let's just say you aren't dressed for company."

The fog was finally clearing and Fran realized what Dean was saying. With her good hand she felt down the side of her body. She was wearing some kind of shorts but from the waist up….nothing. If her face wasn't covered with bruises Dean would have witnessed the deepest, darkest blush ever seen. She clutched the comforter tightly to her neck and wondered if it was possible to die of embarrassment, because if it was she was on her deathbed.

Dean carefully wrapped the comforter around Fran and slowly helped her to a sitting position.

"Hey Sam, why don't you grab the sweat pants and sweatshirt for Fran that I washed? They are on the coffee table in the living room."

Sam hurried off to grab Fran's things. Fran had her face buried in the comforter, trying to make herself as invisible as possible.

"We bought some stuff for you this morning at a rummage sale." Sam placed the clean sweats on the bed. "We weren't sure what size or anything. You can get some nicer stuff when you are feeling better."

Fran peaked up and caught Sam's eye. "Thanks Sam." She mumbled.

Sam beamed at the muttered words of appreciation and sat down on Fran's other side. "You're welcome! We got some great baked stuff too, wait until you see it. You must be starving! You haven't eaten all day. I was starving at lunch time and I had dinner last night! I guess you didn't have a chance to have dinner last night what with….what with….well, what with everything that went on." Sam trailed off.

Dean smiled to himself over his tongue-tied and slightly blushing brother. He was beginning to think that Sam had a little crush on Fran. What Sam said made sense though. Dean realized Fran most likely hadn't eaten since they met the night before, nearly 24 hours ago.

"Sam's right, Fran. You must be starving. When did you eat last?"

The girl just shrugged. Dean watched Fran carefully and noticed that her good hand, the one clutching the bunched up comforter under her chin, was still shaking. The full body tremors that he had suspected were due fear, pain or both, had subsided, but there was still a fine underlying shake.

"Really Fran, when did you eat last?

Fran didn't meet Dean's eye, she just mumbled into the blankets. "School."

"School?" Both boys said in unison.

Fran gave a nearly imperceptible nod of her head. Since being sent to live with her Uncle Gerard she learned that providing food for her wasn't on his list of priorities. The one time she had asked him for something to eat he had slapped her. Fran prided herself on being a quick learner and didn't make that mistake again.

"But Fran, we didn't have classes on Friday. You haven't eaten since lunch on Thursday?" Sam was incredulous at the news.

Fran curled herself up tighter and buried her face again while shrugging. She didn't want to cry, again, but felt hot tears building.

Dean sensed Fran's impending breakdown. He knew they needed to back off and that Fran was probably feeling a little ganged up on. So much had happened to her in the last day, he couldn't imagine what was going on in her head.

"Hey Sam, why don't you go put the leftover macaroni and cheese in the oven to warm up and grab some pudding?" Eager to help Sam bounded off to the kitchen.

Dean crouched down in front of Fran, who was still perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped tightly in the comforter and looking lost and fragile. He leaned over to grab the bag of miscellaneous personal items that Fran may need. As he did his sweatshirt slid up his back, exposing the Colt he kept tucked in the small of his back.

Fran spotted the weapon and was mesmerized by the sight of it. She clutched the blanket more tightly around herself. Dean pulled the bag closer and sat back down on the bed. Fran stared at him with frightened eyes.

Dean noticed Fran's change of expression and thought perhaps she was going to be ill.

"Fran, are you feeling okay? You aren't going to hurl are you?"

Fran continued to stare and shook her head slightly.

Dean was puzzled. "Okay….is something wrong?"

Just another shake of her head, but she looked away and started to shake in fear again.

"Whoa," Dean gently took her chin and turned her face to his. "Hey, it's okay. Tell me what's going on."

Fran tried to swallow but her mouth was dry as dust. Dean thought she resembled a fish gulping air instead of water. He couldn't understand what was going on, it was almost as if Fran was frightened of him.

"Fran, tell me what's wrong. You're safe here. We aren't going to let anyone hurt you."

Fran met Dean's earnest gaze and found herself staring into his bright green eyes. She saw no threat there, no deceit, only concern. "You have a gun." She blurted out.

Dean's expression became slightly amused. So that's it, he thought, she is freaked out by the gun. He supposed seeing your possessed father being shot to death might make you a little leery of weapons.

He took a deep breath and gave a tentative "Yeah," in response.

"Why?"

"Why do I have a gun?"

Fran nodded in response, never breaking her gaze into Dean's eyes.

"For protection."

"Protection?"

This time it was Dean's turn to nod. "Yeah, protection."

"Do you know how to use it?"

Dean smiled. "Well, it wouldn't make much sense for me to carry a gun if I didn't know how to use it."

"Oh." Fran said weakly and finally looked away. "Does your brother carry a gun too?"

"No, Sammy is better with a knife." Fran paled.

Dean shifted on the bed and reached behind his back, taking the gun from his waistband. He double checked that the safety was on and carefully held the gun, pointed away from Fran, so that she could see the weapon.

"This is an automatic M1911 Colt .45 handgun. It was my father's sidearm when he was in the Marines. My dad taught me to shoot, with this gun, when I was six years old. If we need to be armed for protection, this is the gun I carry."

"Have you ever shot anyone with it?" Fran asked shyly.

Dean thought about his response for a moment and decided honesty would serve him best as a response. "I have never shot anything human."

Fran's gaze darted back to Dean's face, she looked about ready to say something but instead her eyes took on a far away look.

"You really live in a different world, don't you?" She finally said.

Dean smirked. "No, we live in the same world everyone else does. We just play by a different set of rules."

Fran stared at the gun Dean still held firmly in his grip. "Am I going to have to play by that set of rules now?"

Dean sobered. "I think it might be best if you did."

He took the next few minutes to show Fran the basics of how to handle the gun, taking extra care to show her where the safety was and explain the importance of that remaining on at all times. Dean heard himself repeating things his father had told him when he was a child, that a gun only had the power you gave it, on its own it is just a piece of metal. To never point a weapon at anyone unless you meant to do them harm, whether or not you thought it was loaded. He repeated the same simple lessons he and his father had tried to reinforce with Sam, that weapons are more about knowledge, safety and respect than they are about fear, crime and power.

Fran was hesitant at first but finally picked the gun up from Dean's palm, surprised by the weight and balance of it. She turned the gun over in her slightly tremoring hand, stared at it from all angles before returning it. Dean checked the chamber and safety and replaced the gun in his waistband.

Dean startled Fran when he clapped his hands together and smiled, "Now, who's hungry?"

wwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Julian spoke reverently into the telephone receiver

while Margery listened on the extension and wrote down the instructions they were receiving. "Yes, Master…..I understand, Master…..You can depend on us, Master….Master, you are most kind…Everything will be ready when you arrive, Master." The connection broke and Julian gazed adoringly at his wife.

"Oh, Margery! Could you hear the excitement in his voice? Master is most pleased with us. I can only imagine the rewards he will bestow upon us!"

Margery threw herself into her husband's embrace. "Yes, darling. You will finally receive the place of honor you deserve. Master will make you his second, I just know it! After the disastrous ceremony that Oliver put together for the winter solstice. He deserved everything he received at Master's hand. Every time I think about him trying to deceive Master by using lamb's blood!"

"There, there, my love. You mustn't get yourself so worked up." Julian stroked his wife's back and buried his face in her hair. "Oliver wasn't up to the challenge."

Margery looked up at her husband and pouted. "I know dear. But it just wasn't fair. When I think about all the risks we have taken to provide the blood of an innocent when it was our turn to host the ceremony! The long drives with those crying children, I can't tell you how many times I thought I would just lose my mind before we were able to slit those little brats throats!"

"I know my dear. You have suffered so for the cause. Master has made it clear how pleased he is. After this ceremony he will no longer need those sacrificial ceremonies to maintain his power. He will be able to communicate with the dark lord at his whim! Ours will be the most powerful coven in the country, the continent, probably the world! I can't even imagine how things are going to be changing for us!"

Margery pushed away and suddenly became very anxious. "Will we be able to have everything ready by tomorrow afternoon? Do we have all the ingredients we need?"

Julian glanced at the list of items and smiled. "Seems everything is in order. You were most wise to stock up dove's blood and white orchid petals. We have all the white linens and everything else we need."

Margery felt her breath coming in gasps as she thought of the ceremony they were going to be taking part in. "Julian, we must cleanse in a ritual bath so that we are pure and able to handle the items needed for the ceremony. I will polish the golden goblet with the herbs and oils. You must soak the golden dagger in dove's blood."

Julian smiled and returned his wife's lust filled glare. "The girl must be draped perfectly on the altar for the ceremony. Master must be able to claim her virginity while forcing the dagger into her beating heart."

Together they held hands and retired to their private chambers to begin preparations.

A/N: If you are liking this (or even if you aren't) I would love to hear from you. Just a quick comment would mean the world!


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sam woke to bright light filling the condo. His brother was still buried under blankets at the other end of the king sized bed. Sam dropped back into the incredibly soft pillows and breathed in the scent of clean sheets. Even though they were on guard and possibly in danger, he felt more rested than he had in months. The last day of relaxing in comfort and warmth was a special gift to someone who was used to sleeping in less than respectable motel rooms that smelled of cigarette smoke and mold more than they did of fresh linens and pine cleaner. Too bad they couldn't stay longer, but Sam knew if the roads were clear they would be heading out as soon as possible.

Sam's thoughts were interrupted by a pillow slammed into his face and a body straddling him. The split second of panic vanished when the tickling started.

"Morning, squirt!" Dean laughed and rolled off his squirming and giggling brother.

"Dammit, Dean! You're such a jerk!"

"Oh come on, Sammy. The way you have been sniffing the sheets I thought you would like to get up close and personal with a pillow." Dean hopped off the bed, just barely evading the pillows being shot at him like rockets. The sun was shining and Dean knew their dad would be wanting to get on the road as soon as possible.

"Start packing up Sammy. I'm gonna grab a quick shower." Dean grabbed some clean clothes and disappeared into the bathroom.

Sam took one last deep breath and reluctantly got out of bed. He started packing up their new freshly washed clothes and smiled to himself as he dressed in his new jeans, sneakers, thermal undershirt and hoodie. They might not be able to stay in the fancy condo for more than a night, but he was leaving with a new wardrobe and a fresh outlook. He hurried downstairs in the hopes of surprising his father by being ready to go when the order came.

John and Fran were already up and in the kitchen when Sam walked in.

"Hey Sammy, want some scrambled eggs and toast?" John grabbed a plate and piled food on it while he was asking the question. Before Sam could answer he had a plate full of food in front of him, followed by a glass of orange juice.

"Thanks. I didn't think anyone else was up yet." Sam dug in to his eggs.

"I'm not in the habit of sleeping the day away, kid." John smiled. "Fran and I have been up for nearly an hour already."

John had actually been up for most of the night keeping watch and listening to the storm gradually fade. He was hoping the plows were out clearing the roads.

Sam looked at Fran who was sipping her juice, her plate already clean. Sam smiled shyly and looked away quickly.

"What?" Fran asked.

"Oh, nothing." Sam stuttered. "You look much better today. Um, not that you normally look bad, but, you know, there isn't as much blood and stuff." He felt his face flame and tried not to roll his eyes at his own dorkiness. Thank God Dean wasn't there to make fun of him.

"Thanks...I guess." Fran answered awkwardly.

John turned back to the stove so his son couldn't see his grin. So, John thought to himself, Sammy has a little crush going on here. This should be interesting. When he had his poker face back in place he asked, "So, where's your bum of a brother?"

"Who you calling a bum?" Dean came bounding down the stairs, hair still wet and dressed in his own new clothes. "Food?" He asked, making a ridiculously pitiful face.

The fact that Dean had showered in record time was not lost on Sam. He himself had used the giant shower the night before, thinking it would be great to use such luxurious accommodations. Instead he felt self conscious and thought there was just something weird about being in such a big glass and marble box. "What did you think of the shower?" Sam asked his brother casually.

Dean squirmed in his chair, the shower had actually freaked him out. It was like standing naked in a marble museum. "I gotta admit it was kind of freaky. Guess I'm not meant to live in luxury." He said with a laugh. "Give me a shower curtain and an old bathtub any day."

John finally placed another heaping plate in front of his eldest. "Eat up you two, you'll need your strength to dig out the Impala."

Matching groans greeted that announcement but neither boy actually said anything about shoveling. Instead Dean ate his breakfast and asked Fran if she slept well. John noticed a slight blush on Dean's face as he looked at Fran while she answered quietly that she had slept well and was feeling a little better. Hmmm, he thought again to himself, traveling with these three is definitely going to be interesting. He said a silent prayer that they didn't run into any trouble because all the Winchester men seemed slightly smitten with the battered and bruised young girl.

John laid out the plan for the day as they finished eating. While Dean and Sam shoveled out the Impala, Fran was going to be packing up her few belongings and John was going to try and borrow a snow blower or snowplow from Julian and Margery so they could get out on the main road. John would feel much more comfortable to be on the move, knowing Fran couldn't be tracked until they stopped somewhere. When they were on the road he would check in with Bobby, so he would be ready to perform the cleansing ritual as soon as they arrived.

Just as John placed the last of the breakfast dishes in the kitchen sink there was a loud rumbling from outside the condo. Everyone froze.

John recognized the sound and was thrilled. "Sounds like a snowplow going through the parking lot. I'll go check it out." John was about to grab his coat when there was a loud knocking at the door.

Using only expressions and hand gestures John silently conveyed for Dean to take Fran into her bedroom and for Sam to remain close in the kitchen. Dean drew his weapon and ushered Fran, wide-eyed and frightened, into her room. He gave her a reassuring wink and held his finger to his lips, making a silent "shhhh". Sam remained at the kitchen island, his butterfly knife in hand but hidden under the counter. Once John was sure Dean had Fran secured in her room he approached the door, gun drawn. He cautiously approached from the side. He took a quick look through the peep hole and saw two figures outside the door. Another quick bob and peak revealed Julian and Margery Carver, bundled up in winter gear and holding what appeared to be a basket of baked goods.

With relief John returned his weapon to the shoulder holster under his flannel jacket. "Just a sec!" he yelled towards the door as he trotted to the kitchen and gave Sam the all clear signal. Sam walked over and tapped on Fran's closed door. Dean cracked the door open and Sam gave him the all clear. Dean returned his own weapon to its usual hiding spot at the small of his back.

He turned to Fran, "Stay put and stay quiet, I'll be just on the other side of the door."

Fran nodded as she cradled her broken wrist close to her body. She wondered if she had ever before been that frightened by someone knocking on a door.

When John was sure Fran was secure, and the boys had put their weapons away, he opened the door to his old friends.

"Julian, Margery! What are you doing here so early? Come on inside, it's freezing out here."

"We brought you some muffins and banana bread. We wouldn't want you and those boys of yours going hungry." Margery made her way inside, setting the basket on the kitchen island.

"Don't tell me this is your little Sammy." She made her way to Sam and took his face in her hands. "Why John, he is the spitting image of you!" She took Sam by the hand and led him across the kitchen. "I bet a growing boy like you would just love some warm muffins for breakfast!"

Sam tried not to appear rude but this lady was freaking him out. He backed away and shot Dean a 'what the hell?' look. Dean was torn between joining his brother in the kitchen and standing guard at Fran's door. His dad had told him to watch out for Fran, his dad would watch out for Sammy. Dean was getting a hinky vibe from the visitors, something was off with these two. He wished his dad would give him some sort of sign that he felt it too.

John could tell that his son's were nervous having these people in their midst. He didn't understand why, he had explained to them that Julian and Margery Carver were some of the first people that he ever helped. Surely he could trust them. He walked over to Sam and pulled him into his side and wrapped his arm around his shoulder.

"Sam, this is Margery Carver, I told you about her yesterday. That is my other son, Dean." Julian made his way over to Dean and shook his hand.

"My, my, you certainly are a strapping young man. Your father must be very proud." Julian approached Dean and hugged him like they were long lost brothers. Dean did not share the embrace and took a step back from the stranger. If there was one thing that put Dean off it was people intruding on his personal space.

"How about I make some coffee to go with those muffins and we have a nice, long chat." Margery said.

"Honestly Margery, I hate to disappoint you, but we already had breakfast and we're getting ready to head out now that the snowplow has gone through. We have someplace we need to be, the sooner the better." John noticed the Carvers exchanging an odd look.

Julian tried to casually scan the condo for the girl's presence. "You can't be serious, John. That was just an emergency pass through the parking lot. The roads are in awful shape. That boat of a car you drive can't be good on slippery roads."

Dean shot the strange man a withering look. He knew there was something off about this guy, but now he was sure he didn't like him, no one insulted their car. John, too, was picking up on some warning signals that something was off with his old friends, although he had a hint of a smile at Dean's reaction to the crack about the Impala.

Julian continued, "Besides, didn't you say you had a sick girl with you? Surely you don't want to drag her out in this weather."

John knew immediately with the comment about a sick girl that they were in danger. He was positive he had not mentioned Fran other than to refer to a family friend. Something was terribly wrong and he cursed himself for letting his guard down around these old acquaintances who were basically complete strangers to him. His mind raced to find an explanation why these two people would know about Fran.

Sam felt his father tense considerably at Mr. Carver's comment. Even though he couldn't see his father's expression he could see Dean's across the room. Sam knew that Dean was on alert and that he was reacting to the silent signal or gesture from their dad.

Julian and Margery also exchanged a look. Julian realized he had said too much and they needed to act immediately or they would lose the element of surprise, their only chance in dealing with an experienced hunter like John Winchester.

All these thoughts and emotions played out in a mere couple seconds. Before John had really processed the danger they were in he found himself staring at the barrel of Margery's Beretta, which was pointed directly at Sammy's head. At the same instant, on the other side of the room, Dean stepped in front of the door to Fran's room and was going to reach for Colt, only to have Julian's 1911 Kimber pointed at his head.

John made every effort to remain calm even though he could feel Sammy's fine tremors of fear beneath his arm draped over the boy's shoulders. "Julian, you mind telling me what the fuck is going on here?"

Both Dean and Sam knew that if the guns pointed at their heads weren't enough indication of the trouble they were in, their father dropping the F-bomb in front of them was a solid indication that they were well and truly in deep shit.

"Just shut-up, John. You so much as have a muscle spasm and your number one son's brains are going to be splattered all over the wall." Julian said with dead calm. "Now pretty boy, tell me where the girl is."

Dean said nothing, he just seethed with hatred aimed at these strangers, willing them to spontaneously combust.

"Margery," Julian spoke to his wife but kept his stare leveled on Dean, "show this punk what his baby brother looks like with the back of his head blown off."

"No!" John pushed himself in front of Sam.

Margery never flinched, just adjusted her aim a little higher so her weapon was trained on John's forehead. Before she could think of firing the French doors flew open and Fran stood in the doorway behind Dean.

"Leave them alone, it's me you want." Fran's voice betrayed her fear.

John was repulsed by the look of utter rapture that came over Julian Carver's face at the sight of Fran. "Amazing." Julian finally muttered. "Margery, can you feel the energy coming from her. There is no denying this is the one!"

Margery held her stance. "I can feel it Julian. You must secure her."

Dean stepped protectively in front of Fran. "You two are boatloads of crazy if you think I'm going to let you anywhere near her."

John knew his son was ready to sacrifice himself to try and protect Fran, he just didn't know what to do about it. Distraction worked with the possessed Uncle Gerard, maybe it would work here too, John figured it was worth a shot.

"Would you two mind telling me what the hell is going on here?"

"Don't feign ignorance, John. I'm sure you have figured out by now that Margery and I aren't the innocents you took us for. We belong to a powerful coven, we have for years. There are ways of neutralizing enemies and gaining their power and wealth, you just have to know how to go about it."

"But what about the Indian spirit that was terrorizing you. If you are so knowledgeable about the supernatural, how come you didn't deal with it yourself?"

This time it was Margery who spoke. "We were new to summoning spirits and didn't realize the power that old Indian chief had. He wasn't too agreeable to complying with our commands. Because of the summoning spell we used, we were unable to be the ones to dispatch his spirit. He just started to run amok. It's too bad really, he was a wise old soul who had protected this part of Lake Superior for centuries."

"We learned to be much more careful about the spirits we summoned after that. You taught us quite a lot, Winchester. It was just our good fortune that you showed up investigating the situation, we were saved the embarrassment of having to ask for help from the coven." Julian added.

John felt sick. He never dreamed that his services could be used that way. That people would knowingly put others in danger by summoning spirits to do their bidding. He wasn't sure if they were just insane or if they indeed were practicing witches with power beyond their weapons. John needed to keep these two talking to buy more time.

"I just don't get it." John finally asked. "What do you have to gain from summoning spirits?"

"Knowledge." Margery answered. "Knowledge about people, places and things. Creating a resort of this caliber isn't cheap, we needed a lot of start-up money. Acquiring that kind of cash legally isn't easy. Dealing with unique items that are quite valuable on the black market is much more profitable, and tax free."

"So why do you want our friend?" Sam asked from behind his father's protective arm, which immediately pushed him further behind John's back.

"Oh she isn't for us. She is a gift for our leader. The master of our coven. He communicates directly with many spirits and demons. Master is an expert at intricate spellwork. His powers of necromancy will be forever renewed after we complete the ceremony of permanency. Your little friend is the one ingredient we have been searching for. Her heart, her virginity and her very soul will render Master eternal life. He will be most generous to those who aid his mission."

Julian finished his explanation and both he and Margery wore identical expressions of ridiculous euphoria. All three Winchesters were disgusted by what they had just heard. Fran was terrified. Dean could hear her practically whimpering in fear and it lit an anger and need to protect her that he had only before felt for his little brother. He could feel his Colt tucked in his waistband. Dean knew his father also still had his gun. The Carver's hadn't thought to check them for weapons. If this douche bag who was holding the Kimber pointed at his head would look away for a second or two Dean knew he could get the drop on the guy.

"Julian, we must secure the girl and begin preparations. What do you suggest we do first?"

"Dispose of the witnesses."

Julian finally turned his gaze away from Dean and Fran to stare directly into John Winchester's eyes. He sneered at John Winchester as he pulled the trigger.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A split second, that was all it took for Sam Winchester to be certain that his life was over. The split second between hearing the two gunshots and seeing his brother crumple to the floor, that split second seemed like an eternity. Sam felt like his entire world had had stopped. Had his brother just been murdered in front of him? Shot like a dog? Dean couldn't be dead, he just couldn't.

John caught his youngest son in mid-air as Sam screamed Dean's name over and over, clawing and kicking at John, trying to get to his brother. At least John thought Sam was screaming, he couldn't be certain the anguished sobs weren't his own.

Fran was still standing in the doorway of her room, shaking her head and muttering "No…..no….no, not again", while hot tears streamed down her face.

Margery kept her gun trained on Sam's head at all times, a sadistic grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Best keep your wits about you John. If you do what we say perhaps this son might live a little longer. But if either of you move from this spot don't think I won't hesitate to splatter your precious little Sam's brains all over the wall."

Julian stepped over Dean, kicking him violently in the ribs. He grabbed Fran by the arms, causing her to scream in pain and snap out of her stupor, he pulled her further into the living room and next to Dean's motionless body, twisted at an awkward angle on his side. Fran struggled her best, even though the pain from her movements was nearly unbearable. She was fairly certain she had pulled some stitches. Fran could see the blood pooling beneath Dean. She summoned strength she didn't think she had and wrenched herself away from Julian's grip. She fell to the floor and threw herself on her friend.

"You can't be dead. Please, Dean, please…you can't be dead. Please don't be dead." Fran sobbed and frantically checked for a heartbeat.

Julian sneered at the young woman. "Oh for heaven's sake, must we make a scene?" He left Fran on the floor sobbing over Dean and approached his wife. "Honestly Margery, look at this behavior. Ridiculous. Why haven't you taken care of these two?"

John held his weeping son close and tried to whisper soothing words to him, but he couldn't manage, having lost his own ability to speak, or think a single rational thought. He watched Fran searching for a pulse and prayed that his son, his first baby boy, wasn't dead.

Margery still kept a steady gun trained on Sam while she spoke. "Well, Julian darling, I was thinking that we may need additional blood for the ceremony. It seems a pity to waste this sweet young child, he is so perfect for our needs. I thought we could keep John alive so he could watch the ceremony. You know how Master enjoys the screams and begging when he has an audience. I think he will be quite pleased to have a hunter's son as part of the ceremony. I can only imagine what he would have in store for the hunter himself."

Part of John was listening to the insane banter between the Carvers. Another part was trying to hang on to his youngest son with all his strength, knowing Margery wouldn't hesitate to fire if Sam made a run to his brother's side. Yet another part was watching Fran. John felt the tiniest glimmer of hope when Fran seemed to find a heartbeat, she was cradling Dean's head, whispering to him and checking his wound. Could he be alive? Could Julian's aim have been off? John doubted the insane man was experienced with a handgun. But the range was almost point blank. Still, he hadn't been looking at Dean when he fired. Overconfidence was definitely a mistake made by inexperienced marksmen. Margery, well Margery looked like she was born with a damn gun in her hand. None of that mattered now though. Seeing that his boy might still be alive gave John renewed strength. He needed Margery to be distracted for just a fraction of a second, that was all the time he needed to take her out.

John whispered into Sam's ear, "Sam, Dean might still be alive. His only hope is if you listen to me right now. Be still. I need to let you go and you need to stay right here. Don't move a muscle. Sam, I'm counting on you. We have to save Dean." John knew Sam heard him because he quieted instantly and he looked up at his father with a miserable, tear-streaked face.

"Quit whispering!" Margery shouted.

Julian stepped further away from Fran and Dean, as he got closer to his wife he asked, "Do you need help dear? I'm pretty certain our little friend is rather distraught at the moment and poses no threat."

"No Julian, I would much prefer if you would secure the girl. We have much to do and…"

Margery's words were cut off by a single gunshot.

She looked down at her own weapon, thinking perhaps her finger had slipped on the trigger. No, she hadn't fired. John Winchester was looking at Julian and smiling, a rather disturbing smile. Without thinking, Margery took her eyes off the Winchesters and looked at her husband.

Margery Carver saw a stain of blood blossoming on her husband's chest at an alarming rate. Julian Carver's lifeless face was frozen in mask of surprise. His body sunk to its knees and fell, face first, onto the carpet. Margery had just enough time to wonder what had happened; before her gun was ripped from her hand, and her head grabbed in the powerful grip of a mighty hunter. That hunter wasted no time in spinning her head around and snapping her neck with enough force to nearly rip her head clean off.

Before Margery's body hit the ground Sam was off and at his brother's side. He had no clue what had happened, he didn't see who fired the gun, he didn't see his father break a woman's neck, the same woman who only a few short minutes ago had been at their door with a basket of muffins. All Sam cared about was getting to his brother.

John saw who fired the gun. He stepped around the two dead bodies, deaths for which he held no remorse, and approached the girl who had just saved her own life, and the lives of John's entire family.

"Fran, you can put the gun down now sweetie. It's gonna be okay." John calmly pushed the gun toward the floor, away from doing damage to anyone, and gently tugged it from Fran's shaking grip.

"Dad!" Sam shouted from his brother's side. "Dean's alive!"

John felt every fiber of his being rejoice at those words. He smiled faintly at Fran, knowing she was most likely going into shock. "Did you hear that Fran? Dean is alive. How about you help us keep him that way?"

Taking charge of the situation John moved to his injured son. "Sam, grab the first aid kit." When Sam hesitated, not wanting to leave Dean's side, he added "Pronto!" Sam shot him a look and was off in a flash. The knowledge that his son might still be alive jump started John's survival instincts and he effortlessly morphed into commander mode, working to save his troops.

"Fran, grab some extra towels, we need to stop the bleeding."

Fran didn't move, she just kept looking from her hands to the dead body on the floor.

"Fran! We need your help, now!" He shouted at the girl but got no reaction. Sam came flying back to his brother's side and all but threw the first aid kit at his father, not out of frustration but because he was moving so fast he barely kept himself from barreling into him.

"Fran," John tried again, hoping he was keeping his growing anger out of his voice, "please Fran. Don't quit on us now."

Fran finally met John's eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. With her good hand she wiped at her running nose and muttered, "Towels….towels, right. Towels, I can get towels." She struggled to get to her feet and stumbled back into her room.

John finally gave Dean his full attention. Two gunshot wounds, the first had grazed the side of his head, a long furrow ripped into Dean's scalp from his left temple over his left ear. Blood was pooling beneath his head at an alarming rate. John just shook his head, a few more millimeters and the gunshot would have been fatal.

"Sam, cradle his head and keep pressure on the head wound." John needn't have worried about giving direction, Sam was already pressing a clean gauze pad to the oozing rip along Dean's head while whispering encouraging words of comfort to his big brother.

The second gunshot definitely had done more damage, entering slightly above the armpit with a neat little bullet hole, but exiting his back with much more tissue damage. He had lost a lot of blood but the wound didn't seem to be actively pulsing, John was hopeful there was no damage to an artery. If the bleeding stopped John hoped they could avoid the emergency room.

Fran came hurrying out of her room with a stack of linens. "Towels." Was all she managed to say.

"Good job Fran." John managed to say when he grabbed a clean towel and then went back to furiously on his son. Once he was satisfied that the shoulder wound was stable John thought he was going to wrap the head wound, only to find that Sam had completed the job. Pride flowed through him and clasped his youngest on the shoulder.

"He is going to be okay, Sam."

Sam looked up at his father and a weak smile ghosted across his tear streaked features. "Promise Dad? Can you promise that Dean is going to be okay?"

John didn't hesitate in his answer. "Damn straight. With the two of us taking care of him, how can he be anything less?"

Sam nodded and smiled at his father, gracing him with a rare grin that took John back 10 years, when both his boys looked at him like he hung the moon. John's heart swelled and he felt nearly invincible. The adrenaline rush was still on a high and he took advantage. He snapped off orders for both Sam and Fran, they needed to pack up and bug out. Sam gently placed Dean's head on a pillow and took Fran by her good arm, explaining while they were moving that they needed to pack up, wipe down and dispose of any evidence and load up the Impala. Fran, to her credit, listened to Sam's direction like he was the president himself. Even with her injuries she moved quickly and efficiently, packing up her few meager possessions and helping Sam start and dig out the Impala from the piles of snow that had drifted it in.

John packed his belongings and quickly loaded them in the car. A quick run through the resort confirmed that theirs was indeed the only occupied condo. He then made his way to the utility shed and found the generator and several cans of gasoline. He hauled the jugs of gasoline back to the condo and then made his way to the woodshed, bringing in several armloads of firewood. Once the car was loaded and Dean as comfortable as possible in the backseat, John and Sam brought in a few additional armloads of firewood. Finally, John sent Sammy to the car. John covered the bodies with salt, gasoline and firewood. The windows were cracked opened and anything flammable was thrown into the living room area to burn. John worked like he himself was on fire. Finally, as John stood in the doorway of the condo, with a lit wad of paper in his hand, he looked back at the destruction and muttered, "Burn in hell, assholes." With that he dropped the flaming paper and watched the trail of fire run along the carpet until it caught the improvised pier with a giant whoosh of flame.

John revved the engine and took off out of their parking space. He pulled up to the Carver's office and quickly ran inside. He grabbed the final gas can and doused the reception desk, including the registration book. Another quick flick of his lighter had the office area going up in flames also.

Flames and smoke swirled up into the overcast northern Minnesota morning, but no one in the snow covered car bothered to look back.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Bobby was nearly losing his mind. It had been over 24 hours and he had heard no word from the Winchesters.

"Dammit!" He swore as he stared at the phone, willing it to ring.

The storm that had dumped nine inches of snow in South Dakota had now moved past Duluth, dumping another 12 inches along the shores of Lake Superior in its wake. The more time that passed without hearing from the surly younger hunter did not bode well. Bobby pushed his trucker hat up and rubbed his forehead, a definite headache was ramping up.

Bobby reread the cleansing ritual he had planned to use on the unfortunate girl John had picked up. He practiced adding each ingredient, he double-checked the ritual area. He had read and reread the Latin passages at least fifty times. Everything was in order. All he needed was the guest of honor, so to speak.

Something had gone wrong, of that he was certain. Bobby could feel it in his bones. It had been over ten years since John Winchester had appeared on his doorstep and he was probably closer to the Winchester family than anyone else. He could still remember that night, answering the knock at his door and being bombarded with questions from a young man begging for help to find whatever supernatural thing had killed his wife. All the while the young stranger was talking there was a ruckus coming from his car that the older hunter could not believe. It sounded like a wounded wild animal screaming and wailing.

"Don't pay him any attention." The frazzled looking young man had said. "That's just my kid, he doesn't like being left in his carseat when I'm not in the car."

"A kid! What kind of nut takes his kid with him when he wants to learn about hunting?" Bobby was about the slam the door in the guy's face when a small blonde child with green eyes, more haunted than those of his father, holding the hand of a toddler with a runny nose and a mop of unruly dark hair, appeared behind his father's leg.

"Dean, dammit kid, I told you to stay in the car with Sammy!"

"I'm sorry, daddy. But Sammy has to go real bad. I think he might have had an axkident. Please daddy, can we use the baffroom?"

Bobby watched all the man's bravado and anger fall away, leaving a guy looking as helpless and lost as the little boys hiding behind his legs. "Yeah Dean. I'm sorry, shouldn't have yelled at you. Why don't you hop back in the car and we will find a place to get Sammy cleaned up." To Bobby he said, "Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Singer. Maybe I could come back tomorrow, without the kids, and we could talk? Pastor Jim said you were about the best, someone who might be able to help me find some answers, learn the business."

Bobby remembered that he hadn't been able to take his eyes off the small blonde boy. The kid couldn't have been more than five or six, but those eyes. His eyes were those of a much older man, someone who had seen evil and lived. "What did you say your name was?" He finally asked.

"Winchester, the name is John Winchester."

"Like the rifle?"

"Yeah, like the rifle."

"Well, sounds like your boys need a little help. Might as well come on in and make use of the facilities." Bobby remembered being surprised to hear those words coming out of his mouth, but he couldn't help it. This guy thought he was going to be a hunter with two little kids tagging along. He needed to nip that in the bud in a hurry, or so he thought at the time.

"Really? Mr. Singer, I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I'm sorry about the boys, it won't take me but a minute to get this taken care of." He reached down and picked up the smaller boy. "Dean, run back to the car and grab Sammy's bag."

The blonde boy smiled at Bobby, a sly little grin that had Bobby wondering if the kid hadn't just played him like a fiddle. Bobby smiled at the memory, it didn't take long to realize that was exactly what the kid had done. Bobby doubted John had ever caught on, but he knew. Dean was one hell of a con man, even at six years old. The kid had conned his way right into the older hunter's heart.

Then there was Sam. Hell, he was just a toddler when they met. Smart as a whip, all shaggy hair and doe-eyed. Every time they came to the salvage yard Sam left with a stack of Bobby's books. The kid was a sponge, always thirsty for more information. Bobby couldn't believe he had opened his house to this dysfunctional little family. John had turned into a fine hunter, probably better than Bobby himself in the field. However, research and information were Bobby's forte. If there was a question, Bobby had the answer, or knew how to find it. So here he sat, stewing in his own juices, waiting for some word that the Winchesters were still alive.

Finally his trip down memory lane was interrupted by the ringing of the telephone. It hardly finished one ring before he picked up the receiver. "Singer here."

"Bobby, it's John."

"About God damned time! When are you gonna get here?"

"We are about two hours out. I just stopped for gas. We are coming in hot, Bobby. Dean's been shot."

Bobby felt all the air whoosh out of his lungs. "How bad?"

"Bad enough. Shoulder, front to back, through and through. Happened about three hours ago, he still hasn't regained consciousness. A bullet graze his head too. Lost a lot of blood, but it looks superficial."

"Sam?"

"He's fine."

"What about the girl?"

"She's okay. She is the one who saved our asses. Listen, I need to get back on the road."

Bobby sunk into the nearest chair. The thought of one of those boys being shot nearly made him sick. "Yeah, okay. Listen, tell the girl not to speak when she gets here, it's part of the ritual. Tell her not to speak, no matter what, once she gets out of your car. I'll get things ready for you to take care of Dean the minute you get here."

Bobby heard a shaky breath on the other end of the line. "The roads are shit, Bobby. Am I doing the right thing? Should I take him to a hospital?"

"John, only you know the answer to that. If it's a matter of life or death, you'll do the right thing. I trust your judgment. Dean's a strong kid, a real fighter. Just keep me posted if the plan changes."

"Yeah, you're right. Dean's a fighter. We'll be there, two hours."

The line went dead.

"Shit!" Bobby said out loud to no one. "Time to call in a few markers."

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

John hung up the phone and headed back to the Impala. He slid behind the wheel and turned his attention to the backseat.

"How is he doing?"

Sam didn't look up. He just kept his gaze on his brother's face. Dean's head was on Sammy's lap, his body curled on the rest of the bench seat. Sam was feathering his fingers through Dean's short hair with one hand, the other hand gently wrapped around Dean's wrist, constantly monitoring his weak pulse.

"Same." Was all he said to his father.

"Need anything Sam? Last call."

"No."

"We should be at Bobby's in about two hours."

No response from the back seat. Frustrated, John turned and started the arduous process of getting back on the snow and ice covered roads.

Sam couldn't take his eyes off his brother's face. Smudges of blood were on Dean's forehead and cheeks. He wasn't moving, there was no sound. It was the lack of sound that bothered Sam the most. The few times in the past when Dean had been injured he always managed to stay conscious, always worried about how Sammy was feeling, always acting like his being hurt was no big deal. Well, this time it was a big deal. The biggest deal he could imagine. Dean should be in a hospital. No, Dean should never have been shot in the first place. It was all because of this stupid life they were living. He promised himself he would never grow up to be like his father. How could he watch his son be shot, think he was dead, and not take him to a hospital? "Dean," he whispered, "I'm scared. Please wake up now, I need you." Sam knew Dean was hard wired to respond when he needed help. "You're gonna be okay, Dean. Just please wake up."

In the front seat Fran was lost in her own thoughts, not the least of which being the fact that she had killed a man. The whole event was a blur, she really didn't remember the specifics of what happened. She knew the strange couple was planning on killing them all, of that she was certain. How could she just whimper and give up after Dean and his family had sacrificed everything to help her? She remembered seeing Dean's gun in the waist of his jeans. She heard Dean's voice in her head, telling her the day before that you should never point a gun at someone unless you meant to do them harm. Fran really didn't plan on killing Julian Carver, but she certainly wanted to do him harm. She remembered seeing Mr. Winchester's grin when she picked up the gun and aimed it at that awful man. Everything else seemed like it happened to someone else, she had no memory of the specifics. Odd, Fran thought, how she felt no remorse. That worried her more than anything else. How could she be responsible for someone's death and not care? What would her parents say if they were still alive? What was going to happen to her now. She had no idea.

"Who is Bobby again?" Fran finally asked John quietly from the passenger seat.

"Thought you were sleeping. Did you need to stop for anything? We just fueled up. It's going to be at least another two hours in the car."

"I'm good." Fran gingerly changed position in an attempt to not aggravate her injuries, no luck there. With a wince of pain she peaked over the seat and spent a few minutes watching Sam care for his older brother. He was speaking very quietly, a constant flow of words, telling his brother how much he needed him, how much he cared for him. Fran closed her eyes and wondered how many times she had felt those words in her own heart, pleading for her lost family, telling them how much she loved them and how much she missed them. Would her family ever have believed how strange her life had become since their deaths?

She realized she was weeping softly when Mr. Winchester spoke to her.

"It's not your fault, you know."

Fran sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. She had been thinking that exact thing, that none of this would be happening if it wasn't for her. She had brought this evil to the Winchesters.

"I mean it Fran. None of this is your fault." John kept his eyes on the road. "This is what we do, you are the victim here. This isn't the first time one of us has been hurt. It will be okay."

Fran wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to himself.

"Bobby said that once we get to his place you aren't supposed to talk. No speaking at all once you leave this car."

"Why?" That sounded like a strange and random instruction to her.

"He said it was part of the ritual. Things need to be done in an exact way for this to work."

"Who is this guy?"

John chuckled, "Bobby? Well, he is a hunter. He has helped me out more times than I would like to admit. When I started in all this, well, Bobby was the one who taught me the basics. If there is anyone out there who knows more about the supernatural, and about hunting it, well….I haven't bet him."

"What is he going to have to do?" Fran hated to admit she was fairly frightened about this 'ritual' and what was going to happen to her.

"Don't worry, Fran. Bobby would never do anything to harm you. We are hoping that this ritual will stop whatever signal you are giving off, so no one will be able to track you. You'll be safe then."

"What if it doesn't work?"

Looking back in the rearview mirror at his two son's John answered, "We will cross that bridge when we come to it."

"What about Dean? Doesn't he need a doctor? I mean," Fran hesitated, "I understand why you couldn't take me to a hospital. But what about Dean? Why didn't you take him to the hospital?"

Sam finally looked up when he heard Fran ask her questions.

John didn't think he could feel like more of a low life as he tried to explain to a car full of children how he couldn't take his son, who had been shot, to a doctor.

"Gunshot wounds have to be reported to the authorities. How was I supposed to explain this? He has two gunshot wounds. And what about you?" John briefly met Fran's eyes. "Not to put too fine a point on it, but you look someone beat the crap out of you. The bleeding is under control. Dean is a tough kid, he's gonna be fine."

Fran didn't think it was her place to argue about the situation. She looked back at Sam and couldn't read his expression as he stared at his father. Finally he just whispered to Dean, loud enough to be heard by the front seat passengers, "Please Dean, don't leave me alone. You gotta be okay."

John's white knuckle grip on the steering wheel was not lost on Fran.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

The sky had cleared and the late afternoon sun danced across the clear white snow. John had made good time during the second leg of his journey. The roads definitely improved the closer he got to Sioux Falls. The only conversation inside the car was the quiet murmuring of Sam whispering to his brother.

Sam looked out the window and knew they only had a few more minutes before they pulled into Bobby's salvage yard. Part of him nearly cried in relief, knowing Dean was finally going to get the help he so desperately needed. But there was another tiny part of him that dreaded the arrival, worried that Dean might not recover, that this time with his brother might be the last time he had Dean all to himself, feeling his weak heartbeat beneath his fingers, listening to his shallow breathes.

He whispered to into his brother's ear, "Almost there now Dean. Hang on, okay? Hang on just a little while longer. I don't know if you can hear me or not, but please Dean, please don't leave me. I need you, I don't know what I would do without you." Tears sting his tightly closed eyes. He didn't want to be crying when they got to Bobby's. When he felt the threat of tears pass he opened his eyes and nearly stopped breathing. Two green eyes were looking back at him!

"Dean!"

"What is it son? What's going on?" John asked anxiously. Fran turned to look over the front seat.

"He's awake, Dad! Dean, man, you scared the crap out of me!"

Sam was rewarded with a weak smile. "Wha….h'ppnd Smm." Dean barely whispered his slurred question, his eyes drifting shut again.

"Stay awake Dean, please stay awake." Sam pleaded.

Dean's eyes opened again and he moved his head, causing a wince and a whimper of pain. "Sure Sam, you….'K?"

"Yeah, you jerk, I'm okay. You're the one who got shot. The rest of us are fine."

"Hmmmm, that's good." Dean's breathing was much more rapid now. "Dn't cry…Smmy. I'm gonna sleep now." And his eyes slid shut again.

"Sam! What's happening." John was pulling into Singer Salvage.

"He's out again, but his breathing and his heart rate are much faster than before."

John slammed on the brakes in front of Bobby's house, nearly sliding into a large white van with "Crow Creek Indian Reservation" written on the side. Before John could get out of the car there was a large man at Sam's door, checking Dean's vital signs and calling them out to another equally large, though younger, man who had a gurney ready. In an instant Bobby was at John's side and shouting into the car at Fran, "Remember – no talking, nothing! Stay in the car until I come and get you!" Fran eyed the strange man, wondering if this was the Bobby they had talked about. She stayed silent.

"Bobby, what the hell?" John barked, indicating toward the strange men that were pawing at his son. After his recent run-in with near strangers he was not too pleased that Bobby was allowing these men access to his son.

"This is Oscar Treetop and his son Arvid. Oscar is a doctor from the reservation. I called in some favors, so just shut-up and let them help." Bobby's voice left no room for negotiation.

John was about to argue but he just didn't have the strength. He knew Bobby always had a soft spot for Dean, he should have known he would call in anyone he could to help the boy. He ducked his head back in the car, "Fran, you need to stay here. Remember, no talking. Sam and I will be with Dean, Bobby will come and get you in a couple minutes." Fran nodded, she was watching the Treetops gently moving Dean from the backseat of the Impala to the gurney.

John, Bobby and Oscar maneuvered the gurney up the stairs and into Bobby's kitchen. The room had been transformed into a makeshift ER. The table had been moved to the side and was covered with medical supplies. A portable x-ray machine was in the corner. The counters were cleared of clutter and also covered with boxes marked with medical supply labels such as suture kits, breathing tubes, sterile equipment, etc.

"Out!" Oscar Treetop shouted at John and Sam when they entered the kitchen.

"Not happening." John answered. "Sam and I are gonna be here every step of the way and I'll be watching every move you make."

Oscar glared at the father and knew it would be a losing battle. "There." He pointed to the two kitchen chairs off to the side. "Stay out of the way."

Arvid Treetop already had an IV in Dean's arm and was cutting off what was left of his bloodied clothing. He smiled reassuringly at the father and little brother. "Don't worry, the crabbier he is the better he works."

"He must be a freaking miracle worker then." John muttered.

Sam scooted his chair as close to his father's as possible and buried himself in John's side. He wanted to stay angry at his father for not getting Dean immediate medical attention, but he didn't have the energy. He was too worried about Dean and desperately needed his dad to make things better.

John placed his arm around his son and tried to remember the last time Sam had sought comfort from him like this. It was especially unexpected after their brief discussion in the car. This was usually Dean's place, to comfort and protect Sammy, it felt good, but foreign. John wished the circumstances for this closeness were different.

Bobby gave Dean's hand a squeeze. "You better be here when I get back kid." To John he said, "Stay here, do not come outside and stay away from the windows, understand? Especially you Sam. The ritual needs to be performed on a 'pure' surface so I'm taking advantage of the fresh snowfall on the north side of the house. Things for the girl are going to be a little embarrassing, so stay here and let her have some privacy." With that he headed out the door. Sam stayed in his chair, trying to get the same feeling of reassurance and safety from his father's presence as he always felt from his brother. He didn't think he could be more useless.

"Little brother," Arvid asked, "what is your name?"

Sam looked around to be sure the man was speaking to him. "Sam," he answered.

"Sam, what is your brother's name?"

"Dean, his name is Dean."

"Sam, how old is your brother?"

"Sixteen."

Arvid kept up a barrage of constant questions directed at Sam while he worked on Dean, taking vitals, hooking up monitors, checking the head wound. Some questions were important and related to the shooting. Some questions seemed pointless, like asking Sam what size shoes Dean wore, or the name of his last girlfriend. All of the questions were meant to distract Sam from what was happening and make him feel like he was contributing to Dean's care, for which John was grateful.

Finally Oscar motioned to John. "You, the father, come here." Sam got up to join his father and Oscar stopped him. "Kid say there."

John had had about enough of the cryptic talking and bossiness from a complete stranger. "The kid's name is Sam, and he has a right to know what is going on."

"Fine, have it your way." Oscar conceded. "The x-ray shows no sign of bullet fragments. Good news. Bad news, there is damage to the scapular bone, bone fragments need to be removed and the muscle and tissue damage needs to be repaired. Nerve damage could be nonexistent or he could lose the use of his arm. No way to know until after. The injury seems to be far away from major nerve bundles. But I can't make any promises. Right now we are going to clean out the wound and repair the damage."

"Do you think he will be okay?" Sam asked.

"No guarantees kid." Oscar answered gruffly and turned to continue working on Dean.

Arvid took pity on the father and son. "Listen, Dean is strong and obviously in excellent health. He wouldn't get any better care anywhere else. My dad has treated many, many gunshot wounds on the reservation. This is what he does, and he does it well."

"Why are you helping us?" John wondered out loud. He knew he would never again be able to trust a stranger's kindness.

Arvid laughed. "Singer, he is one crazy assed white man. Me and a couple friends went camping for a weekend when we were about Sam's age. We didn't go where we were supposed to. Instead we went to the forbidden part of the woods. You know, the place where the ghosts were supposed to live. We didn't find any ghosts, but I learned firsthand what a wendigo was. Bobby saved me, I was the only survivor."

Oscar joined their little discussion. "Are you going to help me, or are you going to stand around gossiping like an old woman all day?"

The younger man smiled again. "If you think he is cranky now, you should have seen him before I was nearly ripped to shreds by an old Indian legend. This is downright warm and cuddly." With that he turned and returned to his father's side, continuing to work on saving Dean.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

Fran sat in the Impala, trying to keep from hyperventilating with nervousness. The scruffy looking man who had yelled at her must have been Bobby. She wondered if all hunters had to look scary? After several minutes the man came back out of the house and walked over to the car.

"Fran, I'm Bobby." Well at least she had that right. "Don't say anything!" He quickly added when she looked like she was going to talk.

"Okay, let's see if we can't turn off that bad spirit mojo you are giving off." Bobby rubbed his scruffy beard, he was not looking forward to the next half hour. At least the girl had no idea what she was in for, if she did Bobby was sure she would have been hightailing it out of there. He took Fran by her good hand and led her around to the north side of his house. There was a space of about 15 feet between his house and a tall line of trees and junk cars, blocking any view. In the center of the area was a card table with small boxes and a bowl in the center. Beyond the table was what looked like a giant circular shower, a white curtain fluttered in the faint breeze.

Fran looked at everything in confusion and wondered what was going to happen. She knew that part of her value was in the fact that she was a virgin, and she was more than a little scared that the 'ritual' was going to have something to do with ridding her of that burden. This; however, didn't look like an altar for deflowering a virgin.

"Okay," Bobby said again, clearly more than a little nervous himself. "I'm sure you are worried about Dean, I am too, so let's get this over with as quick as we can, okay?" Fran nodded again in fear.

"Right, well," walking up to the table, "I will be here, adding ingredients to this bowl made of ice and reading the spellwork, in Latin." Bobby showed Fran the book and the items in the boxes: herbs, white feathers, a pearl, small vials of oil, and some other things Fran wasn't sure what they were.

"While I'm doing that, you will be standing in this circle." Bobby moved the white curtain which had been protecting a circle, with designs that were foreign to her, painted on the undisturbed snow.

"All you need to do is stand in the circle. When I'm finished with the spell the ingredients in the bowl should form a 'purity fire'. It won't burn you," he added quickly when he saw the fear in Fran's eyes, "it isn't a hot fire but a cleansing of some sort. I will hand you the bowl. You take the bowl and raise it over your head. That is all you have to do. The purity flame will cleanse you….you won't feel a thing, I promise….and that's the end of it. Sound simple enough?"

Fran nodded hesitantly and started to move toward the shrouded circle. Bobby gently grabbed her by the arm.

"Wait. There is one more part of the ritual that I haven't shared."

Fran was cold and impatient to get the whole thing over with. She cocked her head and questioned the hunter with a look.

"Well….um….try not to freak out on me but, well….you have to be naked."

Bobby managed to get his hand over Fran's bruised mouth and hang on to her in a bear hug before she started to vocalize her protest and run off. She struggled against him as much as her injured body allowed but didn't have much strength to put up a fight.

"Now hold on before you hurt yourself anymore than you already have." Bobby was trying desperately to keep Fran calm. Maybe he shouldn't have blurted it out like that but, dammit all to hell, he never had to save a virgin before, and he was worried sick about Dean. And really, how do you tell a 16-year old girl that she has to stand naked outside, in 20 degree weather, inside a circle of snow, in front of a complete stranger while he tries to remove a demon's curse from her soul? All things considered Bobby thought he was handling things as best as possible.

Fran's struggling finally stopped and Bobby tried to reassure her. "Listen, I know this sucks, but it is probably the most important part of the ritual. That's why I have the curtains rigged, no one else will see you, I promise." Seeing her look nervously toward the house he added, "No one knows the details of the ritual except for me. They are occupied in the house with Dean. Let's just get this over with, okay?" The girl was quietly weeping now and Bobby couldn't have felt more like a pervert if he tried. "Remember, no talking. I'm going to let you go now." Bobby slowly released the shaking girl. Fran sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She looked at Bobby with fear-filled, tear streaked eyes. Trying to be as professional and reassuring as possible, Bobby pulled the curtain aside and showed Fran where to undress, being careful not to disturb the purity of the circle. Once she finished the job Bobby carefully unwrapped her fractured wrist and removed the blood soaked bandages from her shoulder and back, he wasn't sure if bandages counted but thought better safe than sorry. His heart, which was already breaking for the embarrassed girl because of the situation, shattered when he saw the condition of her shoulder and back. He thought her bruised face was bad, that was nothing compared to the claw marks, bruises and pulled stitches on her back.

Trying to avert his eyes as much as possible, he explained that he was going to start the ritual the second she stepped into the circle. He reminded her not to speak and when he handed her the bowl to take it and raise it over her head. Curling in on herself as much as possible Fran only nodded. At least Bobby thought she nodded, it was hard telling because she was shaking so badly. She stepped into the purity circle, sinking past her ankles in fresh snow. Bobby was thankful he had practiced the ritual as many times as he had, he flawlessly read the spellwork, adding ingredients and making gestures as he went. He pushed all thoughts of the girl suffering in front of him from his mind and focused on finishing the ritual as quickly as possible.

Fran watched the glass bowl change color, wispy smoke spilling over the sides as ingredients were added and phrases muttered. She could no longer feel her feet and her teeth where chattering uncontrollably. Time seemed to stop. Fran felt herself shutting down, shutting off and trying to remove herself from this terrible nightmare that had become her life. Her shaking was so violent she wondered if she would even be able to grasp the bowl when the time came. Finally, after what seemed like forever, the hunter stepped forward with the bowl made of ice, only it no longer looked like a bowl at all, but instead appeared to be a white ball of flame. She reached out to take it, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

Bobby stood back and watched in amazement after he completed the ritual. Fran took the bowl, her eyes were closed tightly, tears streaking down her face. Once the bowl was above her head the flame spilled down the side, covering her arms, her head and flowing down the rest of her battered body. Bobby watched in wonder as the girl glowed with the flame shimmering on her skin. Suddenly it was as if the flame came alive and it flashed from the ground back up her body, slamming into the bowl made of ice, which exploded in a brilliant flash. Fran collapsed in the snow, unconscious.

"Holy shit," Bobby muttered, "now that's something you don't see every day."

The explosion was so bright that it flashed through the house, causing everyone inside to stop and wonder. It was near dusk, the bright sunlight from earlier had faded and it would soon be dark. Oscar smiled knowingly and said "Singer works fast."

It was only then John remembered that Bobby was performing the ritual on Fran. He was so consumed with Dean and what was going on in the kitchen that he had completely forgotten. Sam bolted to the door, worried that Fran and Bobby had been caught in some sort of explosion. He swung open the front door to find Bobby standing on the other side carrying Fran.

"Thanks kid." Bobby moved past Sam and gently placed Fran on the sofa. Fran was wrapped in white sheets and was so pale Sam found it hard to tell what was Fran and what was a sheet. Her lips were tinted blue, the bruises looking terribly fierce on her pale skin. "Bobby, what happened? Is she okay?"

Bobby sat on the edge of the sofa and pulled the afghan that had been draped there over the girl. "We'll talk details later, kid. Right now I need you to run upstairs and get some extra blankets out of the hall closet."

Thankful for something useful to do Sam took off to get the blankets.

"Jesus, Singer." John had made his way into the living room, roughly grabbing Bobby by the shoulder. "What the hell happened?" His emotions were bubbling under the surface and his friend was a good target to vent some anger and frustration on.

"Fairies came down and sprinkled her with magic dust! What the hell do you think happened? I performed the ritual. I never said it was going to be easy on her!" Bobby jumped up on the defensive, his own frayed nerves making him ready for a fight.

Sam came barreling back into the room and stared at the two men who looked ready to kill each other. "Is that all you two know how to do is fight?" He asked angrily.

Bobby immediately felt foolish for losing his temper so quickly, he grabbed the blankets and covered the shivering Fran, gently tucking her in.

John too felt his anger dissolve as quickly as it bubbled over. He had been angry at Bobby for not telling him the ritual could hurt the girl; but seeing his mentor, the rough and gruff Bobby Singer, gently tuck in the girl and brush a stray lock of hair from her head, whispering to her that she was safe now, that anger faded away. John knew his friend would rather die than willingly let something hurt an innocent child, whether it be his own children or a complete stranger. He felt Sam at his side, leaning into him. John pulled his son close, saying a silent thank you that at least Sammy had been spared injury through all of this.

"Did it work?" John finally asked.

"Having never done this before, I can't say for certain. Everything went as it should according to the ritual. We can only hope." Bobby couldn't take his eyes off the sleeping girl. "She sure is a mess though, isn't she?"

"Yeah, the demon worked her over pretty good. Carver didn't do her any good today either."

The mention of Julian Carver brought Bobby out of his stupor. "How is Dean doing?" He asked anxiously.

"Oscar is patching him up. Seems to think he will recover." John looked back toward the kitchen, where two men were working on his son. The gurney was covered in Dean's blood and blood soaked cotton pads were dropped all over the kitchen. He watched as a drop of blood pooled on the metal frame of the gurney and finally let loose, dropping to the tile floor, adding to the small puddle that had already formed there. It hadn't seemed so gruesome when he was sitting in the kitchen watching them work. Now, looking in on the scene, he felt his stomach flutter with nausea and his legs shake. Any adrenaline kick from earlier was surely gone. He sunk down into the closest arm chair, pulling Sam onto his lap. He held his youngest son and breathed in the scent of him. Sam let his father hold him like a small child, like he hadn't been held in years, he felt his father's fear and worry, and his father's love. For once he didn't hold back the sting of tears. He cried while his father held him and whispered soothing words of comfort.

Bobby watched the father and son succumb to the emotion of the day. He looked back at the unconscious girl, beaten and bloodied, resting on his sofa. He looked to the men working in his kitchen on a 16-year-old boy with a bullet wound. "Damn," he said softly, "I need a vacation."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Dean's eyes felt like they were filled with sand. He tried to blink the grit away but he felt as if it was going to take all the strength he had just to open and close his eyes. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was desert dry. He wondered what was going on. Slowly his senses came back to him. He managed to blink once, he pried his tongue off the roof of his mouth and tried again to swallow. His ears were ringing and he felt a cold ache spreading from his shoulder down his arm.

He blinked again and thought he heard a whimper of some sort. Good God, that wasn't him, was it? Dean Winchester did not whimper like a little puppy. To prove his point he tried to lift his head. Pain shot through his skull like lightning. This time he definitely did whimper, and he didn't care. At the moment crying also sounded like a pretty good idea.

"Settle down, son." He heard his father's voice and felt the warmth of his hand.

"Da…d?" The pain was still pulsing in his head, so much so that he didn't care how weak his voice sounded.

"Yeah, buddy. I'm here."

"Wha….ugh."

"Shhh, quit trying to talk kiddo. Just rest. I'm here. Sam is here."

Dean struggled against the pain in his head and tried again. "Sam….okay?"

"Yes, Dean. Sam's fine. I'm fine. Just relax." John held a straw to Dean's parched lips. The cool water slid down Dean's throat, he was sure he had never drank anything as wonderful before. He felt devastated when John pulled the glass away, all he wanted in the world was to drink more water.

"Take it slow, son."

Dean struggled to focus and look at his father. Finally John's haggard and weary expression became clear. There was an IV stand next to his bed, but he didn't think he was in a hospital, he didn't smell the antiseptic, flowery stench he associated with most hospitals. Suddenly Sam's face came into focus, his expression was anxious and worried.

"Hey Dean! How are you feeling? Does your head hurt? Arvid said your scalp took 36 stitches. He let me watch when he stitched you up. He made the tiniest little stitches, you probably won't even have a scar. Not that anyone would see it anyway, it's on the side of your head."

Dean couldn't process that much information. Why did he have stitches in his head? Who the hell was Arvid?

"Whoa, Sam. Slow, okay?" Dean recognized Sam's rapid talking as his way of venting his nerves and frustration, but there was only so much he could handle. "I don't really remember what happened. Why do I have stitches in my head?"

"Because, Julian Carver tried to put a bullet in it." John let him take another wonderful sip of the cool water. "He didn't count on you having the hardest head ever known to man. However, he succeeded in shooting a bullet through your shoulder."

Dean's eyelids were drooping. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't know what happened. I let that guy get the drop on me."

"No, Dean. You didn't let him get the drop on you. There wasn't anything that you could have done differently. It's my fault. I never should have let my guard down."

"Did they hurt you or Sammy? Did they hurt Fran?"

"They didn't hurt us. There were a few awful minutes where we thought Julian had killed you. I don't ever want to go through that again." He brushed away some soft blonde hair and looked into his son's sleepy eyes. "Fran got roughed up a little, but if she hadn't used your gun, well I'm pretty sure none of us would be here right now."

"Fran? She used my gun?" Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing, Fran hadn't even wanted to touch the gun when he showed it to her. "I just don't remember anything."

John cupped his son's face and smiled, the events of the day had certainly left him in a melancholy mood. He was fairly certain he had touched both his sons more today than he had in the last two years. "There will be time for all that tomorrow. Right now you need to close your eyes and get some sleep."

"Dean, you really scared me today." Sam said quietly. Was Sam actually holding his hand? If Sam didn't look so sad and scared Dean would have given him grief about being such a girl, but the warmth of his little brother's hand in his own, feeling the brush of his thumb, made him feel better than he imagined any drug could. Dean didn't realize he was smiling goofily, just like he didn't realize that there actually were some pretty heavy duty drugs in his system.

"Don't worry…Slammy…..mmmmmm, I'll be 'k…nice." Dean lost track of what was happening around him, he thought maybe if he just rested his eyes for a minute, he was so profoundly tired, he would feel better. Within seconds of closing his eyes he was he deeply asleep and snoring softly.

"Is he okay, Dad?" Sam wished Dean would stay awake a little longer.

John just nodded and sat back in the rocking chair he had pulled up to his son's bedside. He allowed himself the luxury of watching Dean sleep. John could see so much of his beloved Mary in Dean's face. Sam's features and coloring were a reflection of John, with just a hint of Mary around his ears and nose. But Dean, well there was no denying that Dean was Mary's son. John often teased his oldest by calling him 'pretty boy'. Dean hated it when he called him that. But it was the truth, he was a pretty boy. How could he not be, when he looked so much like his beautiful mother? Sometimes John was startled when Dean looked him in the eye, it was as if Mary was looking back at him. Mary would be so proud of what a fine man Dean was becoming. He closed his eyes and could practically hear her voice, the voice he heard on the rare occasions he allowed himself to visit the world of 'what if'. What if Mary hadn't perished on the nursery ceiling? What would they be doing right now if they were together as a family? She would be so proud of her son, of both her sons. He heard her whispering about what wonderful boys they had.

After a few more minutes enjoying his son's peaceful slumber, thanking the powers that be for not taking his boys away from him, and silently promising Mary for the millionth time that he wouldn't let anything happen to their boys, John turned his attention to Sam.

"Oscar said he gave Dean some of the 'good stuff', whatever that means. I'm guessing he is going to be out for a while. Time for you to get some shut-eye yourself."

"But what if Dean needs something?"

"Sam, you will be sleeping less than four feet away. I'm pretty sure if Dean needs something you will know."

Sam didn't move, he just kept holding his brother's hand. "What about Fran?" He asked, "Someone should check on her." Sam wasn't ready to leave his brother's side. His bed, just on the other side of the room, seemed like miles away. If he thought he could get away with it he would curl up on his brother's bed, like he did when he was younger. He always went to Dean when he was scared or had a bad dream. Dean always made him feel safe.

"Bobby is taking care of Fran. I'll go and check on them." John felt like an old man as he hoisted his tired body out of the rocking chair. He crossed over to Sammy's bed and pulled back the blankets.

"Don't tell Dean I'm letting you go to bed without brushing your teeth or washing up. Just this one time I think we can forget about that. Hop in Sammy."

Sam brought Dean's hand, still firmly clenched in his own, to his face and held it to his cheek. He knew if Dean could see him now he would give him crap about being a girl, but he didn't care. "Goodnight, Dean." He whispered. John felt oddly out of place watching the tender scene between his two sons. Had he ever known two brothers who were so close?

Sam slowly got up and staggered to his own bed, unceremoniously flopping down on the mattress. John brought up the blankets and tucked him in. "Get some rest, Sammy. Come and get me if Dean needs anything."

Sam turned and snuggled onto his side so he could watch his sleeping brother. Since arriving at Bobby's house Sam had alternated between needing his father close, telling him everything would be okay; or wanting the man as far away from him as possible. He knew his dad loved them, but how could he have permitted their lives to be so screwed up? Dean had been shot, he could have died, and their dad wouldn't take him to a hospital. Sam vowed to never live a life that would put him in that position. He would forever look at his father differently.

John could sense Sam's conflicted emotional state and decided it would be best to just let things pass for the moment. He was sure Sam would come around after a good night's sleep. They had been getting along so well these last few weeks, surely the moodiness and arguments were history. Sam was a hunter's son, he knew the risks, didn't he? John was confident that Sam would realize he made the right decision. After all, Dean was going to be okay. Sure, he would be out of commission for a while, maybe need some rehab or physical therapy. But all things considered, the outcome would be the same as if they had gone immediately to a hospital. Dean would never question his decision. By the time John was approaching the door to Fran's room he had himself convinced that everything would be fine, in a few weeks Sam would snap out of his adolescent funk and see that hunting as a family was the only life for the Winchesters.

Fran had only briefly regained consciousness after the cleansing ritual, but was so traumatized she behaved like a wild animal, refusing to let anyone near her. It was Bobby who finally calmed her hysterics enough so that Oscar and Arvid could tend to her injuries. Oscar gave her a heavy duty sedative so he could repair her back wounds, restitching and redressing. Her wrist was x-rayed and set in a plaster cast.

While John and Sam got Dean settled and waited for him to regain consciousness, Bobby gently carried Fran upstairs to an unoccupied guest room. Arvid helped him carefully prop her up on pillows to keep pressure off her back. Oscar didn't want her laying flat after hearing some suspicious rumbles in her lungs and fearing early onset pneumonia. In her weakened condition, and after the events of the day, it wasn't hard to believe she would at least have caught one heck of a cold. As Bobby looked at the sleeping girl he could see the bright red spots of fever on her cheeks. A gentle touch to her forehead confirmed that she was warm. Damn, Bobby thought, can't this kid catch a break?

Fran became restless and began mumbling in her sleep. Finally Bobby heard her whisper, "Daddy?" and he felt his heart clench.

"Daddy? I don't feel so good." She woke a little more and looked frantically around the room with glassy eyes.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm not your dad. It's Bobby, remember?"

"Bobby? Oh." Fran's breath hitched and she tried not to cry. She was so, so tired of crying. She was almost more tired of crying than she was of being in a different place every time she woke up. "Where am I?" She finally asked.

"You're at my house in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. You got here earlier today with the Winchesters." Bobby felt ridiculously uncomfortable sitting on the edge of the bed. Never before had he felt so out of place in his own home.

Fran's eyes felt hot in their sockets and her head was fuzzy. She remembered flashes of the last few days but was having a difficult time distinguishing what was real, and what wasn't. She remembered being locked in the closet in at the Anderson's party. She remembered her Uncle Gerard being possessed by a demon. After that things became increasingly blurred, she remembered pain, she remembered embarrassment, she remembered spending time with Dean and Sam. Suddenly another memory hit her.

"Dean! He was shot! Where is he? Is he okay?" Fran tried to sit up but had about as much strength as a sick kitten.

Bobby shushed her and settled her back on the pillows. He hadn't realized that John had quietly stepped into the room until he heard his voice.

"Dean is okay, he is resting in the next room with Sammy."

"Am I staying here? Did the ritual work?"

This time it was Bobby who answered. "Near as I can tell it worked just fine. You're safe here. What you need now is to get some rest and get your strength back. We have plenty of time to work out the details later, don't worry."

Fran still felt tears threatening. "I'm scared." She said quietly.

Bobby pulled the blankets up around her shoulders. "You don't have anything to be scared of here."

John added, "This house is a fortress. You're safe here."

"See there?" Bobby said. "You just get some rest now."

It didn't take long for Fran to settle. The two burly hunters waited in silence until her breathing evened out, and they were certain she was asleep, before they quietly left the room.

They made their way back to Bobby's kitchen and to John's relief the room thankfully looked like a kitchen again. Oscar and Arvid had loaded up their equipment and cleaned up all traces of the makeshift operating room that had been there earlier.

Bobby went to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, it had been a gift from someone he had helped a few years earlier. He had been saving it for a special occasion. Bobby thought celebrating the end of this awful day qualified.

He pulled out four mismatched glasses and poured generous shots for everyone.

"Looks like the young lady has a fever setting in." He said.

"Hmmm," Oscar nodded, savoring the smooth liquid as it slid down his throat. "I suspected as much. Not to worry. I gave her an antibiotic shot and I'll leave you a prescription. She will most likely be quite ill for a day or two but should then improve. If not, call."

John knocked back his own shot. "What happened to Dr. Crabby? You were all grumpy and cryptic with us. But take care of one messed up teenage girl and you turn into an old softie. What gives?"

"What can I say? I have a weakness for pretty girls." Oscar wiggled his glass for a refill.

Arvid shot his father a look but Oscar just glared at him. "What?" He said, "You have your license, you can drive home. If I have been drinking it will make our cover story look more credible, not? You had drag me out of a white man's bar and bring me home. Your mama will buy that."

"Mama isn't the fool you think she is, old man. I already called and told her we were helping Bobby Singer. She said she won't wait up for us."

"Good," Bobby answered while pouring another round, "I'm anxious to hear the whole story, John."

"Yes," Oscar said, obviously getting a little drunk as he poured shot after shot down his throat. "I would like to know how a man gets his young son shot while saving a virgin from witches, or demons, or whatever they were. Only a white man would find such trouble. What do you do with this girl now? Where is her family? Who shot the boy?"

Bobby pulled the rapidly emptying bottle away from the doctor. "Enough! He won't ever be able to tell us what happened if you keep jabbering! Good heavens, all day you grunt and point and now we can't shut you up."

Arvid laughed and went to the frig in search of a soda. "I'm anxious to hear this story, maybe we should listen to, huh?"

John helped himself to another shot, knowing he was in for a long night. Dean was going to have a long recovery and John was glad they would be able to spend it at Bobby's, the kids had been in school here before, maybe they could finish out the year in Sioux Falls. It was only a few days since they left Finewood but the town was already a distant memory.

As for Fran, John would give Pastor Jim a call as soon as he returned from his religious quest, or whatever the heck he was doing. John didn't have much experience with survivors of the supernatural. Normally, if he was lucky enough to save someone, they had family to care for them. It didn't happen too often that they came across someone who had no one. Fran was going to need lots of support and help to get through her ordeal. Support and comfort were Jim's strong suit, certainly not John's. Although Bobby had surprised him in his gentle care for the young girl. Surely Pastor Jim would know what to do.

Then there were the questions that had been raised by the demon possessing Uncle Gerard. He needed to talk to Bobby about Beelzebub's Snare. As for the information the demon had shared about Mary, how could any of that be true? He had implied that Mary knew about the supernatural and demon deals. How could a young woman like Mary make a deal with a demon? Was that even possible?

The men all sat around the kitchen table, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Oscar grunted, "If you are telling the story psychically, I gotta tell you, I left my crystal ball at home, I'm not getting your signal."

John hadn't realized he was lost in reflection. Finally, he took a deep breath, and another drink of whisky. "Well, it all started because Dean went to a party Friday night….."

The End

A/N Hope this didn't disappoint. A huge THANKS to each and every one of you who reviewed or alerted this story! I would love to hear your final thoughts!


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